The First Supper

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Tonight,
let's keep the light on at the dining table,
long after you have put down the spoon
and gulped down your night-pill. 
Let's not lengthen the distance,
between your striped porcelain and mine,
with monologues of the vagaries of an autumn sky.
Do not let the fingers around the worn goblet,
stifle memories of a similar setting,
where words flowed more than wine.  
You know how I have passionately disliked,
you pulling the curtain of the window,
that overlooks our quaint street-
right after you get up from the table.
Stop. Don't do it tonight.
I like how the street lamp invades 
our dysfunctional little universe.




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