The Squatters in the Warehouse Next Door

The squatters in the warehouse next door
Are throwing a dinner party

Now, I don't really have anything against squatters
And I don't really have anything against them flouting their squatterness
By throwing a dinner party
Especially because that almond torte one of them made
Smells delicious

But I am incredibly offended
That I was not invited

For one thing, I haven't reported them--ever

Somebody did, but I didn't

And I sent them a lovely, hand-written note
Letting them know that it wasn't me
And that I love squatters
Because it makes me think of camping
Which is something I was never allowed to do as a child
Because I'm allergic to fresh air and trail mix

I did contact the authorities once
Because they were having a listening party
And the string quartet they hired
Was playing just a tad too loud
Plus one of the instruments was clearly out of tune

But I just asked that the police tell them to play a little softer
Not shut the whole party down
Which they did

...They also evicted them from the premises...obviously...

But when the squatters came back
I wrote them another hand-written note
Explaining that I had a migraine that night
And so I was a little testy
And I'd be happy to repent for my actions
By bringing a souffle to their next dinner party

Which is tonight...

...And here I am, in an apron, ready to bake, in case they call and say the invite got lost in the mail

...But nothing

...Perhaps they don't have a phone over there

They can't have a land line, but it seems odd that they wouldn't have a cellular

Everyone has a cellular

I don't, because I'm allergic to the paint they use
To write the little numbers on the keypad
But if not for that I would

Maybe I should just go over there

But then I'd have to go over empty-handed

I have this bottle of vinegar
But I was saving it for a special occasion
And who knows whether or not this particular party
Is a special occasion or just a casual get-together between friends?

The warehouse looks so lovely

They've decorated it with photos of themselves having sex

It reminds me of when I lived in Ontario
During my bacon curing phase

Oh, if only I could go over there

We'd all eat and laugh and tell stories
And then dance around the warehouse
Reveling in how much floor space there is

Perhaps I'd find a box to stand on
And an old-fashioned microphone
And somebody would find a saxophone
And a trumpet and some violins
And maybe a lute
And I'd sing and sing
And everyone would cry
And hold me
And we'd fall asleep at dawn
All lying on top of each other
Like in their pictures
Except not naked or wearing those cat masks

Oh, if only I could go over there
And express to them
All the love I feel for their little world

If only I could...

Oh goodness!

How silly of me!

Of course I can!

I'll just write them another note!

My word, I can be so dense sometimes

They're probably sitting over there right now
Saying--'Why doesn't she just bring over a note so we can end this charade of pretending we don't want her here?'

Those poor squatters

Waiting for me in silence
While they play with their fondue

I'm coming, squatters, I'm coming!

Now where's that inkwell...

Don't tell me I have to get a new squid

Oh life, you do exhaust me