and so do I

and so do I

The table is set, 

the painted china roses dance around

the maypole of the turkey casserole. 

The salad is dressed and double dressed

in vinaigrette 

and Frank Sinatra’s liquid tenor

now dripping from the record player

on the oven rack. 

The chandelier above the table setting

gives off a light

as warm as honey rolls piled high 

in wicker baskets. He brings

his ravenous appetite, sits down

and thanks the host, then 

slides away his mounded plate, opening
a package of saltines.