standing in the back of the room
away from the buzz of networking
the chit chat and side glances
judging if I am worth talking to
here in theory
to meet people like me
but don’t see any
that are dreaming of poetry
and fire eating,
or worried about Nazis on the moon
spy a woman in black boots
and dream we elope
and leave this reception, this life
behind
sputter some more zombie work talk
drained glass, wet napkin in hand
leave as early as I can,
and savor the cold walk
