You see straight through me.
I start to read the story, and i know i’m in.
I want everyone to come to the party.
I’ll be out there herding them in:
“you should see the food,
and there’s wine for all
(and belgian beer).
Of course you can bring a friend…”
It feels damn good, this story.
So i’m reading it,
and i’m smugly self-satisfied,
on the side of the righteous
(the genuinely righteous, of course,
not the self-ascribed righteous)
and then it turns itself back on me…
It’s not enough to invite everyone else.
It’s not enough to make everyone feel welcome.
It’s not enough to sit back,
have another glass of red,
and proudly watch the gathered mass
(who are there because of me).
If i’m not there – only and completely –
because i can’t not be there,
because today and everyday I have to say ‘yes’ –
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer…
it would be better to never have come.
You’re throwing the party for me, God…
how did i never know?