The shoulders

I'm feeling blue and I just wanna schmooze.

Slink myself into a tight dress.

Wobble freely on the balls of my feet.

Smush my bare toes into the dirt at the bottom of the grass.

Intoxicate my body with rum-y jammy silty liquid and puff puff puffs of squeezed toxins.

Trip and land hands first on a pair of shoulders.

Shoulders that do not pity me for my need to schmooze.

For my need of tight fabric or bare feet or jammy liquid or squeezed toxins or strong shoulders.

Instead, the shoulders simply listen to my blues and flip the record when it crackles and do not give me advice as to how to rid my body of those pesky blues.

Instead, the shoulders stay and say "I'm feeling blue and I just want to schmooze" and I respond by taking off the shoulder's shoes and leading them towards a patch of dewy dirt and grass

And the shoulders say "Hey this dirt feels swell between my toes" and I'll nod knowingly because this isn't my first time feeling blue

And by the end of the night, I'll remember how good it feels to not be in a tight dress so I'll slink myself out of it.

I'll attempt to curl into the world's smallest ball and wonder where the shoulders went but remember that they said they were going to put their shoes back on and I found myself disappointed by their lack of longevity but what can you expect from a pair of shoulders.

Schmoozing over and I still feel blue but that's not to say my schmoozing didn't do. It did its best and tomorrow it will do its better.