The wine at the party was expensive and red

The wine at the party was expensive and red,

and the laughter was easy until I spoke up.

I told them how every night before bed,

the milk and the eggs were all locked with a cup.

I described the bicycle chain on the door

of the fridge, and the click of the padlock’s steel.

I thought it was just what the evening was for—

a way to make sure that the hunger was real.

They stared at their napkins, the room going tight,

while I realized the logic was only for us.

Safety is something that's different at night

when you grow up inside of a permanent fuss.