Dinner at the Who's Who

  amidst swirling wine 
and flickers of silver guests quote 
Dante, Brecht, Kant and each other.
 

 I wait in the hall after not 
powdering my nose, trying to re-
compose that woman who’ll 

 graciously take her place 
at the table and won’t tell her hosts:
I looked into your bedroom 

 and closets, smelled your 
“Obsession” and “Brut,” sat 
on your bed, imagined you 

 in those spotless sheets, looked 
long into the sad eyes of your son
staring at your walls from his frame.


 I tried to smile at myself 
in your mirrors, wondering if you 
smile that way too: those resilient 

 little smiles one smiles 
at one’s self before facing the day, 
or another long night ahead — 

 guests coming for dinner.
 
So I wait in this hall because 
there are nights it’s hard 

 not to blurt out Stop! Stop 
our babble: Pulitzer, Wall Street, sex,
Dante, politics, wars, have some Chianti.
.
.


 let’s stop and talk.
 Of our thirsts 
and obsessions, our bedrooms 
and closets, the brutes in our mirrors, 

 the eyes of our sons.
 
There is time yet — let’s talk.
 
I am starving.

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