The Dinner Party
The aftermath was overwhelming:
piles and stacks, greasy and stuck.
The consequences would be lasting.
Everyone saw it; they all watched him leave.
Lemon rinds in coffee cups,
highballs upside down in bowls,
not quite regretting
—but that word came to mind—
and never remorseful, though certainly sad,
She considered just walking away.
Out the blue door, down the sidewalk,
in sunlight, miles take moments,
yet street lights grow dim.
A glint makes her blink and
she’s back, elbow-deep.
While beams dance on billowed suds,
she sips old wine.