Home on New Year’s
by Dina Ben-Lev
Never mind about being alone. At least
when you need it, the bathroom’s
unoccupied. Couples won’t wander into
your closets. And you can drink champagne
casually, contemplatively, in the way of the old rich.
Click on the TV and everyone’ll be talking
too loud, blitzed on beer or nervous
in sequins. Suddenly, an aerial view of Manhattan:
streets zig-zagging with lights, like a puzzle
burning apart at the seams. If it will, let the planet crack into pieces, you’re not
waiting for a countdown. Go ahead, throw confetti
on the rug. Pour your glass again, and if
the phone rings, don’t answer, think,
Somebody always wants me.
