I arrived late to the after-party.
People wearing worker’s caps
are foraging among the table litter,
carrying paper plates of cake
and sandwiches wrapped in plastic.
All I want is one small treat,
to savor before the evening’s done.

I sit beside a smiling stranger
and rummage through my paper bag
to find a corkscrew.  
All the wine is gone, she says.
But we can drink champagne
from plastic glasses.
We should have children soon, she says.
But something sweet is about to end.
I say that I should go now.

Outside in the desert, soldiers
fire a volley in the air.
A salute, I think.  A valedictory?
Then they lower their rifles
to point at me, and I see
that they are still shooting.