The Home Party
by the poet mom
An invitation to a (blank) party arrives.
I’m desperate for company.
So I accept.
Conversation swirls around kids, husbands and housework.
I am bribed with food.
The (blank) is shiny and new.
I am compelled.
I leave with a full heart and an empty wallet.
A few weeks later,
I send out my own invitations for a (blank) party.
They come because they are lonely.
I serve food.
We are full.