Staying Out

Everyone else went through the sliding door.

I could hear them through the glass—

the party rearranging itself indoors,

someone asking about the grill,

a woman laughing at something.

The chairs went first. The red one nearest the fence

leaned, then folded sideways into the grass

like it had made up its mind.

The rain came sideways when it came.

I stayed at the overhang's edge,

not quite under it. My left shoulder

getting wet. I don't know why I didn't go in.

The second chair went.

Then the table with the citronella candle,

the jar rolling off into the dark part of the lawn

where the porch light didn't reach.

I stood there in someone else's backyard

feeling something close to relief

that wasn't quite that.

The party went on. I could hear it.