The Party's Over

There’s still a litter of glitter

In the shower drain and your pillow

Has a mauve streak of cupcake frosting.

The only toast left today

Is actually an English muffin.

Your playlist cross-fades to the BBC

And the workweek yawns like a cat

So filled with ennui it seems

Its head will split and spill

Tiny fangs, each named with a task:

Email who’s-it about what’s-it.

Buy two percent milk and tuna.

Change the sheets.

Evict all the remembered ex-lovers

Swaying to the beat and lifting flutes

To you, just for a moment,

As you swanned in your wings

Before the toppling back

To pigeon-hood.