The Jones’ party grew
to a steady level of
enjoyment and laughter
as I looked at my wife.
Her dress was almost too thin
to wear in public,
but I guess that was the point:
to be the center of attention.
I struggled with my drunken mouth,
battled with the whiskey,
to not shout at the top of my lungs
that honey, my dear,
everyone stares because you try too hard,
and dear, I love you,
so you know this is the truth,
that everyone feels sorry for you.
I realized long ago that happiness is an act,
so as long as this smile
is stapled to my face,
nobody will realize I’ve found them out.
She will feel pretty,
we’ll still be invited to parties,
the town will make inside jokes,
and I will hold my wife’s hand and drink whiskey.