Author Information
White Chicken Chili
He was a caffeinated smokestack, standing aloof
but not intentionally. He was given free drinks,
and thus, could take his time with his words.
He sipped and let the bubbles rise and
shot the shit with friends, about other friends,
and odd ends left unending
when terms began again.
He was amidst and surrounded by a cresting
wave of beautiful faces, all of which
gave partial glances on a whim, and
it was nice, he supposed.
There weren't many words to exchange but
he got along fine with the people that he knew.
There was much food to be had;
a second place to be.
He wasn't tired when each check had been cleared
and the hand approached the three. Yet he
thought that home was maybe
the only proper place to be
when you're alone.
