Under the white graduation tent,

our paper cups of wine
leaving red spots on the tablecloths,

summer wind
causing everyone's eyes to linger
on each others exposed arms,

my professors tell me
to keep in touch.

This seems like a trap.

Like when I’m out at a neon bar.
The sour air forming water droplets
on my arm hair.

A friend will ask me,
Are you having fun?

There is no answer.
So I say,

Smiling in a way that says,
Yes, yes, having fun.

This is not the way they want it.
So there passes a disappointment
from her to me.

So she says,
Are you sure?

And we are in a nowhere place
where I am a performance piece
of fun-having.

Fun fun dreamy fun.
Yes yes funny girl.
Bubbles and fun and more yes and yes yes.

There is no point
and I’d like to be alone.

Peter Bogdanovich's wife
needed to receive polio shots
when she was a child in Germany

and described how white-coated men
surrounded her hospital bed
day after day with a long needle.

She fought them and fought them.
Until she made a choice to give in
and so the shots didn't hurt as much.

So yes I am fun having.
Having fun girl.

Yes, please, keep in touch.

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