Soiree
He held a fan of cards in a game of whist
called Boston at a wobbly table he couldn’t fix
with a wad of napkin or a match packet
because if he bent to fumble one-handed by feel
underneath he’d show his hand, though
why not? The contest was all mysterious trickery
he’d presumed to learn to play by playing.
Forever in his eyes’ corners he saw gilded cherubs
along the wainscoting, dangling grape clusters
over insolently pursed lips poofed out
in provocative smirks, and above in an oval ceiling
God, or someone, with wild streaming hair
glared down, thrusting a spread compass.
Was the tight-bunned woman across the table
(his partner?) regarding him through her lorgnette
with hatred or pity? Every few minutes
he forgot and leaned an elbow. At that commotion
silence in the great room fell while all stared
at bushy underarms his wife-beater t-shirt
revealed, baggy gangsta shorts, shower clogs
and camo baseball cap. He’d set out
to return bowling shoes he’d walked away in
absentmindedly, but always they stayed
one step ahead of him. And here he was now,
not knowing French, sure his credit card
had been charged and his mission
hopeless.
called Boston at a wobbly table he couldn’t fix
with a wad of napkin or a match packet
because if he bent to fumble one-handed by feel
underneath he’d show his hand, though
why not? The contest was all mysterious trickery
he’d presumed to learn to play by playing.
Forever in his eyes’ corners he saw gilded cherubs
along the wainscoting, dangling grape clusters
over insolently pursed lips poofed out
in provocative smirks, and above in an oval ceiling
God, or someone, with wild streaming hair
glared down, thrusting a spread compass.
Was the tight-bunned woman across the table
(his partner?) regarding him through her lorgnette
with hatred or pity? Every few minutes
he forgot and leaned an elbow. At that commotion
silence in the great room fell while all stared
at bushy underarms his wife-beater t-shirt
revealed, baggy gangsta shorts, shower clogs
and camo baseball cap. He’d set out
to return bowling shoes he’d walked away in
absentmindedly, but always they stayed
one step ahead of him. And here he was now,
not knowing French, sure his credit card
had been charged and his mission
hopeless.
