Tonight's Poet Corner: House Warming

House Warming

Bring a bottle of Heineken, spiking the
punch bowl, rolling the cookie dough, scooping up
pastry kisses from a round red cup and
frosting over lips with sugary frisks
up and down the inside of a gray T-shirt
as the supermen huddle, drinking caffeinated
high times and low times with cinnamon whisked
into statuesque molds on holy grail brims.

This isn't a party, it's a get-together.
No, it's not a get-together, it's a hang-forever.
It's a tea time free rhyme fiesta-riffic swirling of
edible confetti in plastic spoons. It's a
kick to the tongue and a hug to the throat
as you swing your hips around in a stereo's belt,
and your girlfriend drinks warm, warm beer
in the light of a cheap 2007 chandelier
that your mother dusted off just for your
new habitat under strawberry stars and
uniform blue cars huddled in clusters
around a cul-de-sac of overdosed lemon
twisted martini glasses all in a row,
heating up the play-doh in your skull.
Now that's good house warming.