all the parts of a meal

Time
Time
Time, here and my dinner guest.
we graze each other’s feet under the table,
and blush behind the dancing candelabra.
we are both so very hungry.
we are here, seated.
we must eat what the Server has to serve.

the appetizer is a warm bun, fresh out the oven,
the main course a thick and bloody veal,
followed by sweet syrup,
which, if eaten too fast,
will upset it all.

and Time, my dinner date with Time,
we stab at the same iceberg lettuce
inhale the opposite ends of the same noodle
until we race toward the middle
kissing like early lovers.

dinner is almost -
time! She makes a toast, clinks Her knife’s sharp edge
against the delicate glass
with the transient, see-through wine inside

Time, She says,
what is more enjoyable, more filling,
more hearty, than the way chiffon curtains
are blowing right now?
or the couple to the left of us, sharing the same menu?
what is more lovely, more filling,
than the laughing child, spinning spaghetti ‘round a fork.
what is more worthwhile, more filling,
than the soft linen cloth on your lap, and
revolving kitchen door, ushering Meals out to everyone,
hungry and awaiting their Server.

There is nothing more to do with my Date
this date
than to look Her in the eye
and get to know Her.
until I am both full
and finally digested.