Aren’t we a sight
packed in one room
talking over each other?
A lemony taste lingers in my mouth
(we tried to see who could
swallow the most packets of
lemon juice)
and I think I’ll puke.
My dress doesn’t fit quite right;
Maybe I’m just seasick,
eyesight’s a bit off.
The chatter crescendos
and I watch the skyline disappear
behind us.
I hear the muffled sound
of the jazz band on the floor
above us—
muffled joy—
something in the air that toes the line
between memory and dream.
Five of us stand
next to four sitting
and seven walking out
to the deck.
What a way to spend the night,
on a riverboat surrounded by
friends you didn’t know
a year ago.