I know I must weave my way
through the clinking of glasses,
through the crowd, voices raised
to be heard over the music,
past the server with trays
of champagne, to thank
my host, which means
interrupting her converstion,
then approach the honored
guest, waiting until the eyes
of the huddled threesome
turn to me, say goodbye to her,
wade through more people,
juggling drinks and small plates,
past the waiter with a silver tray
of elegant bruschetta, past
groups of three or four huddled
together laughing, find other
close friends to say goodbye,
try to explain without insult
I’d rather just be home
alone.