Chris

No... the is not the first meeting
Between us

Yes... a memory stirs within you
Vaguely, awkwardly

You struggle with the image in your mind
Hazy and unimportant

Like the caterer at the party
With whom you conversed, uncomfortably
Not bothering to ask their name

Or the red velvet couch
Upon which you spilled your drink

Not to worry
There are people who clean such messes

Like them, I serve a function
I think we have agreed upon that

But I am like an old hat or mask
That was never really in style

Left in a closet
Dusty and stuffed in a back corner

Until that missing piece of a costume is needed
For a theme, or an embarrassing fantasy

At which time, I can save you a few coins
And a trip to the second hand store

And, for a moment, you may assign me a value
But quickly, It will be forgotten

I suppose, I should be thankful
For the purpose that you give me

I suppose, someday, you might even loan me to a friend
Or donate me, to someone more needy

Who does not get invited to the ball that everyone attends
Who has only make-believe
Who will dance with me in front of the mirror
And laugh at the world