The Sixth Fish

Your blurb (the essence of your being,
Is it not?)
Said Friendship was your principal aim;
[Applause! Applause!]
And when we met,
And tipped our glasses,
A century of minutes passed
With alacrity.
Halfway along, you excused yourself,
And while you pizzled privately,
My eyes roved 'round: to a youngish man,
His gazers trained on Olympic grapplers;
To a grizzled gent bullhorning scores;
To a waitress swaddling forks in napkins.
Lord, bless this island of innocents!
The Ukrainian mixologist
Kept pressing more fluids, but we resisted;
Excessive lubrication ain't needed
When convo-circuits are complete
And fluidly zizz and zazz quite nicely.
We tipped her well, and tipped our chairs,
And tripped to your aging Honda Civic;
You dropped me off—all systems hopeful!
And now the shocking final scene
In this overwrought one-acter:
Another possible deuce reduced
To just one actor,
Another closing on opening night,
Like all the others.

Another closing on opening night like all the others. Damn. Beautifully relates the most common subtle feeling of neglect and disappointment, of a night one lays in bed and thinks without thinking, staring at the ceiling in a swirl of surrealism. I enjoyed that turn of events, of the fun and togetherness, to plummet and bash your heart into your stomach with the hammer of loneliness. Thank you for sharing.

Just when I think you're brilliant you surprise me with even better use of word play.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY