i came late to the book launch
to see the other side of myself
a social schmoozer
mingling amongst insincerity
i walked up the tall staircase
imposing, just as i might be
a face from the past greets me
a blank expression on her face
am i to be remembered?
i walk to the table
where the books are sold
i ask politely for a copy
which i receive, with change
in exchange for a twenty
going forth into the room
i see the man of the hour
an orderly line waiting for more magical words
to be written across his pages
i wait patiently for my turn,
but after some time, a lady confronts me
“i’m going to cut-off the signing line here
i’m his mother”
with me the lone one, no one else behind me
so, signing-off from this venture,
i walk towards more faces from my past
and am greeted with awkward acknowledgement
in time, the frosty gazes melt into warm smiles,
a common history brought into the light
an ocean of noise surrounds us
while the band plays
building up to a rising crescendo
of empty congratulations
poured upon our man of the hour
by a queen of conceit
some long moments pass
as this painful rapport unfolds
until we hear inspiring words
that melt away my preconceptions
the main event
living up to its billing
i am glad i waited it out
i’ll never forget it
-P. Cunningham, May 2011
