shannon apollo

sitting in the back of the hall

next to the president’s son

I notice the dirty jewels

and pick them up for fun

I must return them

find out whose these are

no time for that, he said

let’s do shots at the bar!

but these precious little trinkets

someone must miss

I picked them from the dust

and hoped for a wish

now I squeeze into the mayhem

he already has a martini

I pretend to care

but just don’t have it in me

he spills a drink

he is hairy, sweaty and rude

he is the president’s son

deal with the attitude

I think about the dusty dreams

secure in my pocket

I must polish them shiny

the ring, necklace and the locket

But he grabs me again

introduces the decorated stiffs

I shake hands and protect the precious

before I get to the edge of the cliff

but I know I don’t belong

the black tie is too tight

but to leave all of the people

and this so-called special night?

he is too busy making the fakes laugh

and glaring at the king

when my father walks up and asks,

“Did you happen to find my ring?”