You go up to the bedroom, get your coat.
People are making love; reach, stroke your thigh,
say you should join them. Hesitate, and sigh,
and wrap your scarf tightly around your throat.
In the front garden, someone pours champagne
and sausages char on a barbecue.
You walk through the front gate, and push it to,
if you walk briskly, you'll still catch the train.
They'll be up half the night, you'll be asleep,
Hard bright clear notes cascade within your head.
You wake – the score's still open on your bed.
You practice – smile when your voice makes a leap
and hangs suspended, perfect in the air.
No party favours ever quite compare.