A Dinner Disturbed
She sat at the table next to mine and disturbed my dinner—
she and her breasts
shimmering in the candle light
two perfect orbs displayed
floating, proclaiming, boasting
teasing, enticing, taunting.
Food I had thought delicious
now seemed boring, tasteless and flat.
I willed myself to concentrate on my dinner
eyes down, fork in hand
but fork and finger became clumsy
and my eyes drifted sideways
unable and unwilling to resist those inviting, brazen breasts
breasts firm and flexible, skin soft and smooth
two delicious pots of honey, and every male
in the restaurant wants a taste.
Waiters flutters around like flies at a picnic,
the haughty maitre d’ turns himself
into an unctuous groveling suitor offering
his services and his business card.
The tone and tension of conversation in the restaurant changes. The boom
and base of men pontificating
becomes distracted, less certain, desultory
woman’s voices sharper and more assertive
while the subject of all this distraction
reflecting in the glory of her breasts appears serene—
apparently indifferent to the rising temperature
her smooth, pure unblemished face
her lips in a half smile—
just a girl
just another Helen
launching a thousand distractions distorting a thousand dinner conversations frustrating at least one poet.