Spectator poems
From the magazine

Party Time

Alan Jenkins
EXPLORE THE ISSUE 06 December 2025
issue 06 December 2025

Beyond strange, to find myself in this roomful of ghosts!

Or whatever’s left when the person’s gone.

Where was I when they all slipped out?

In life we shared so much, meals, beds, and life was great,

Thanks! It really was. Now I don’t know my hosts,

Let alone my fellow-guests… But here’s

Someone looking round him, clutching two beers,

One in each trembling hand – he’s coming this way,

Smiling – Is that one for me? I almost shout,

Wondered if you’d make it back! And so on…

When suddenly it strikes me: this is how I nightly

Move about my own rooms, swaying slightly,

Clutching a glass, under the embarrassed eye

Of my cat. Miaow… It’s not what I’d have chosen

But it’s how I live – which isn’t something I can say;

Meanwhile my new friend talks at me as if

We’ve known each other all our lives (perhaps

We have. Perhaps we’re even still alive!) He can riff,

Though: what a marvellous flat, how sexy S looks

In that dress, will her husband turn up late

As usual, and, is X still with us? His last two books…

Then we do heart stuff, prostate stuff – two chaps

No longer young (not old!) who find themselves frozen

Not quite where we were, when we believed we’d never die.