Hit and a Mrs. (you keep calling me)

to pretend
to fit in
you can't sit still
so you find other conversations to join
opinions are vague
disillusion
talk about protection
and defiance
like rats chewing through phone cords
limping raccoon
raccoon eyes
hold your cocktail
puff up your cheeks
roll your eyes
adjust your dress
watch me
watching you
make moves
then over to me
place your hand alongside mine
a quick brisk
i shouldn't be here
at this "mixer"
but you're buying all the drinks
so i guess that's alright
keep feeding me those rum and cokes
and i'll keep listening
i think you think i think others think your sexy
and you are
those long legs sticking out from under your business suit
your hair hanging over that one weird eye
you always smell like fresh printed copies
from a xerox machine
it's kinda cute
kinda.
but
those soft hands with red painted nails
as you rub them across my back
trying to make this a comfortable situation for me
but it's not
and
i just can't bring myself
to be around you for more than 5 minutes
without drifting off into some corner
into some other chair
i haven't pissed this much in my life
i guess it's my bodies way of escaping
these short haired jerk-offs in suits
with shiny shoes
and watch chains
and cuff links
and ugly pastel ties
i'm tempted to wipe the sun dried tomato/chive butter from this cracker
on the suit
and whenever i drift
you come afloat
and drag me into hell once again
i can't wait until you go home
to your husband
and tell him about all the opportunities you conjured tonight
all the "networking" you did
all the new "connections" and "aspirations" you have
i can't wait for you to ask me if i enjoyed this
...