Party Like It’s Y2K

The terror of technology loomed above us,
taller than the hotel where I spent December 31st
with my husband and four-year-old daughter.

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Downtown Seattle expanded fast,
mechanical cranes perched
like mantises at perilous angles
on the other side of our hotel window.

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The Space Needle had canceled fireworks,
due to a terrorist threat.
News reports urged people
to celebrate as usual, but
remain on the lookout for suspicious activity.

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I was the hotel fortune-teller,
hired to do tarot readings
in exchange for a free room and tips.

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In the banquet hall,
dull computer professionals
sat in cushioned chairs,
paper noisemakers arranged
in neat rows in front of them,
waiting for the 20th century to end.

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In the background, Prince sang
about partying on the abyss of the new millennium
and not giving a damn about consequences.
I envisioned him, resplendent
in purple, strutting on a faraway stage.

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The men who came to me for readings
felt unhappy with their marriages
and wondered whether their futures
would be any different. I was afraid

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to tell them the truth—the future
would be exactly like the present,
and they wouldn't even notice.

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As midnight drew closer,
the champagne flowed faster,
the crowd loosened its belt slightly,
and we all began to dance.

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While we gyrated to Prince,
the hotel janitor told me “You have a nice ass.”
I laughed and shook it in his face,
then danced even harder,

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because I knew my husband and daughter
had already gone upstairs
and were watching television
from the safety of their beds,
emergency flashlights beside them on the nightstand.

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