Hell is Murky, and This Soldier's Afeared

Tonight is S-I-L's 21st rite
So we're all going down
To the 16th-century-proud town,
Where Italians are too dark-skinned
For the inhabitants' comfort,
And local color is something reserved
For Catholic, papist, whores.

For a town so proud,
The establishment’s loud,
And not what one would call
Family-friendly.
But the child will be there
And the parents too,
And the parents too young to be parents.

I have thought of how
To escape and be free
To break my gritted-teeth vow
That I’d be there for tea:

One conveniently supplied by friends turning 30 was
party-and-pool-time in the OH, Hi!-
Oh Valley
...But I won't leave till tomorrow.

The moon just declared, in our endless rapport,
My 28 days are over
And I’m hers once more.
...But I don't think that excuse will fly.

I could have to save
Boyfriend from a crisis
That I and I alone could brave!
...Should probably save that one for Mom.

Stuck at work?
Sprained an ankle?
My cat's glands are swollen?
I need to wash my very long hair?

Alas and alack,
For shame and forbear,
There's no plan of attack
Can keep me from there.
O! Death, can’t you find me?
Won’t you spare me this eve
From an ill-fated supper
That will lead me to grieve?

Or perhaps, that’s too drastic
Simple lies are the best
Like work was too long
And I need some rest.
...*cough*...from... you...