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Dinner at the Who's Who

by
  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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