The Ballroom

The Ballroom

It's one more place that
I don't belong:
The ballroom gilded and the walls
Hung with precious paper
That I don't know
The name for, no doubt
There's a proper name for it,
Something French most likely,
That I can not pronounce.
I'm here in off hours, that's
When I see this type of place,
When I'm repairing the plaster
Or called for a meeting
Of some visiting group
And I arrive
In jeans and sneakers.
A co-worker once said
That the girls at the prom
Were having their first
Black-tie event.
I've never been to a
Black-tie event, my husband
Does not own a suit, just
A few nice shirts and
A handful of ties
For weddings and funerals.
Here in the ballroom
I'm just a viewer, as much
As I would be
From home in my element
Which consists of the following:
Couch, husband, blanket, TV
And remote.

C. Bronco