I felt the urge to punch a person at a party
who referred to themselves as
a 'multidisciplinary artist'
right to my face without a hint of irony.
Drinking beer and trying to make it last,
while lying about my career is weird,
and I don't want to be here,
but the new her dragged me along.
I was just an anonymous alien,
the new her's new fling,
until I went to get another beer
and saw a sticker of one of my poems on the fridge.
Where did that come from, I asked the host.
Old roommate stuck it there, he said.
I didn't recognize the name, but he asked why.
No reason, I said, then left.