Ode to the Quiet Weekenders (only sort of satire)

On a night out in a trendy bar

My mind wanders afar
Away from this crowded place
Into a peaceful night’s embrace

How I long to be with my book
In a cafe corner, a cozy nook
Or Burp Castle - the only bar
Where “shushing” isn’t bizarre—
But rather, a policy
Strictly followed, for you see

Some of us would rather sit
In quiet thought, candles a-lit
Far from the booming bass
Far from sweaty finance bros spitting in your face
As they tell the same old tale
Of how they’ve had too much ale
And therefore the night is wild
The scene they’d hoped for — the boyz all riled
Help.
I can’t take it anymore
Take me back to hidden corners, the places I adore…

Ode to the quiet weekenders

The girl in a cafe on a chilly Saturday
Pen in hand, watching people, as they go about their days.

Ode to late-night movie-goers

The small crowd of friends and lovers
Who would much rather take cover
In the dark with a story on the screen
Than in a basement club’s pulsing scene

Ode to the night with friends

Jam sessions, board games
Secrets exchanged, memories gained

But Oh,
I’m still here
Chad is yelling in my ear
As I smile and nod, pretending
To enjoy this kind of thing
But far from it, I am dreading
How long
This could go on
Checking the clock
Staying calm
Taking shots
To get through
But here’s the honest truth:

Party Girl Sarah doesn’t exist.
She died tragically young, once she discovered the bliss
Of a late-night movie theater
Of a cafe corner table
Of the strange pub where patrons are hushed
Of laughing with friends who she could trust.