Evening at Portofino Ristorante
the dining hall is half empty
because it is friday - shabbat
and good jews light candles at home
not such a good jew i am out
with my female friend both of us
dressed for the late winter evening
conversation is light, muted
mostly about the eggplant dish
i'm having or calimari
my elegant friend is having
while the wizened broad in the back
plays dulcet tones on the steinway
my mind drifts from the idle talk
as i think how at such a place
with the white tablecloths
quiet music and low lighting
they shot dead rosie rosenthal
when he stepped outside for a smoke
i half expect to get shot too
when at length the dinner concludes
and we rejoin the chilly night
with near regret i note i'm not
for they'd recall me like rosie
and i'd not wake up still alone
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