So I was at this dinner party
In a familiar place
Where, as usual, the Romantic
And the Idealist were holding court
At opposite ends of the same table

Where the Cynic and the Skeptic
Sat quietly by and sipped
Their merlots quietly

Where the Icy Pragmatist and I
Traded war stories, and we openly
Wondered, in whispers of course
When the two clowns on either side
Of us would ever surrender
Their goal of wooing the unwooable

I think he would be devastated,
Praggy said, nodding towards
The Romantic, if he had to give up the chase

And I think he wouldn’t know what
To do with himself, I said, my eyes
Bobbing to the Idealist. He really believes
Love is a validation of all that he is
And was and will ever be.

Never was much there, muttered the Cynic,
Reaching for the wine.
Not much he can put up on
The trophy case, at any rate, the Skeptic said.

Still, he found expression through the chase
Praggy said.
It gave him a voice, did it not?

That it did, I allowed, rubbing my hands

And anyway, what would we do
If we didn’t have them to make noise
At these parties? Okay, we’re pretty fast
On our feet, and we can delight
The shattered with pithy aphorisms

But you notice, Praggy said,
How the waiters and waitresses
Flock to these guys and like the
Way they laugh. Makes them feel good;
Gives them something to go home
And Smile about.

Only to get there and open the door,
The Cynic said, and realize how dark it is
On the other side.

And all the matches are and always
Were wet, the Skeptic said.
Anyone ever tell them that?

Not me, said the Pragmatist.
Not my place.
They don’t like when I talk anyway.

And I shrugged. Might
Have to be me, they all
Decided, to tell the fools
Their act was already old

To pick up the pieces of the
Humpty-Dumptys
When they fell off the wall

And I guessed they were right
Although, between you and me,
My own energy
For putting broken things back
Together is pretty much
Gone, to be honest.

01/31/2011

Posted on 01/31/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch