Inaugurating the first Ballroom of Gliese 581g

Inaugurating the first Ballroom of Gliese 581g

Gregory takes another swallow of punch and
With a sort of limp flick of the wrist,
Motions for me to examine his attire.
“Picked it up yesterday. Vintage as fuck.
This is practically the Lunar Module edition.”
I stare at it with more of a glaze than a glance.
Feeling an overwhelming obligation to express interest,
I ask where he bought it from and
in the same breath,
Tell him with concern that the punch is all but gone
And that maybe he should get some more.
He furiously swims through the thin atmosphere;
A desperate missile towards the refreshment table.

In line for the restrooms, Cassandra asks why I wore flip flops
“Well, I thought it was a beach party,” I say,
Fiddling with the decorative iron valves on my suit.
“No! This is a formal ocean-side soirée,” she replies,
Pausing to maneuver her oxygen tank
Out of the chrome doorframe.

On the balcony, away from flailing elbows and rogue feet,
I run my hand over bamboo stalks, pulling one loose.
From the stage I can hear the first soft notes of
Stairway to Heaven, and like every time before
I plead with presumably my inner omnipotent deity
To make it stop.
Unlike every time before, a renewed sense of urgency
Uncoils inside me and curses each note,
each small and immaculate thing

I sail inside the ballroom,
Gregory, the valiant defender of the punch bowl,
Screams obscenities from his half-open mission specialist visor
“I love this song!”
I heave my blunt bamboo spear I’ve pulled from the Earth –
No, the Gliese – No, the planet
Uprooting the guitarist from his revered spot
and make history as the first rebel
of Gliese 581g.