small talk

I had landed there,

contrary to my hunch

that the affair

would be a bunch

of people I don’t know

gassing on and on about

not particularly much, at all,

in brilliant bursts

of repartee –

and so, it came

as no surprise to me,

when I found myself

adrift, in a sea

of cheese platters

and clatters of mystery appetizers

staring down in rapt intensity

at a mountain of melon balls . . .

mercifully:

the obligatory trays

of white wine filled glasses passed

amongst the captive guests

with military punctuality

until – at last –

I seized on inspiration,

to lend my voice to the escalating din

that bounced blustering around me,

off of the buzzing walls

by pointing out, astutely:

"Melon balls".

photo:  White Wine Night Out – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke