CORDON BLUES
Carefully, she reads the menu,
every dish an inspiration,
poetry and passion blended
as the poet-chef intended:
every dish a demonstration
of the rightness of the venue.
Then a waiter, laden, comes
with plentiful, expensive food
on patterned platters, napkins, white,
but suddenly her appetite
recedes: she pictures fingers, crude,
that clutch at her and beg for crumbs.
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