Saturday Night Stinging

I must be

Some kind of masochist

To willing spend

A Saturday night

At a too-loud rock concert

Held in a library.

I’m surrounded by

A couple hundred people

I don’t really know

And the half-dead camera

Hanging from my wrist

Is keeping me from

Spending time with

The handful of people I do know.

So I’m silently cursing

The girl whose job this should be.

Not that anyone could hear me

If I screamed.

Of course,

I’m here voluntarily,

Knowing full well

What I’ve gotten myself into.