At three o’clock,
I stood behind one of the twins’ chairs,
resting my hands on either side
of the weathered metal
listening to the conversation
she was having with her manager
from work.

I wanted to look busy
for the short two hours
I was standing in their backyard
with people I didn’t want to see,
among mismatched fold-out tables and chairs
where strangers clung to familiar faces
in exclusive cliques they wouldn’t form otherwise.

Who wouldn’t?

A little wooden birdhouse
hung low from a branch of the lone tree
blowing around in the wind,
taunting me—
persisting against the occasional harsh gust
that sent plastic tablecloths
flittering noisily about.

A game of corn hole,
once the most popular distractor,
now lay a bygone relic in the backdrop.

I only said goodbye
to one twin
before I slipped away.

At five o’clock,
I gave my last stop
a halfhearted side hug.

He was more interested
in his male counterparts
that had shown up,

so I befriended his darling cousin
from Tennessee,
who watched me struggle to the ground
on a bad leg
to stick my feet in the pool.

A little boy I’d never met
emerged from the rippling waves
to fling water into my lap.

We walked back down the hill
to sit in a circle
and play a game of cards
I’d never heard of
while they talked about
their future endeavors.

And I’d decided
I’d had my fill
of celebrations
for the day.