I arrive at the party as I do every year -
Bearing a gift, though I'm the only one.
As usual, I can't find him in time
To give it to him because he changes his look
Every year since his final appearance in the bunker.
I keep hoping his party will be cancelled.
I pass the time talking to the boy and girls
Who kicked Reena Virk to death, ask them why.
The girls almost shrug when they mumble
Something about always doing everything together.
They only perk up when they recount
Exactly what everyone was wearing that night -
Down to the brand names of all their shoes,
Even Reena's which they tried to hide afterwards.
I see the first faint smoldering
Of sophistication in their eyes.
The two boys from Littleton are at the buffet,
Content to be in a place where the bullied and insecure
Are top of the list. All the names they used to be called
Replaced by "mass murderer" which they set about
Writing in icing on the cake nobody has touched.
They're a bit sorry their parents were blamed
Because they turned a bunch of jocks
Into a new high score.
A telegram arrives, simply saying,
"Best wishes. Detained in Kosovo. Milosovic."
The night winds down, my gift unopened.
It's wrapped in all the names
I've been called and all the insensitive notes
I've mailed without waiting to think.
But he's careful about opening gifts
Ever since Rommel's surprise. I can't remember
What's in there, it's been so long.
It might be a new set of paints or pastels.
Or maybe a poem about his heroism
In the first Great War. Or is it a re-draft
Of the Treaty of Versailles? I tried to get signed apologies
From everyone who was mean or ignored him,
But they refused. They will never come
To this party. He will stomp off angrily into the night
While the boys from Littleton
Snatch the still lit candles, hurling their
Sizzle into a corridor full of children.
Just once I have to make our host stay
Because he's the only one who's allowed
To blow the candles out.
