At Dinner's End, by Gladys L. Perkins

At dinner’s end
you know I am too polite
to leave before you are done
so you order more tea
that you do not drink
while the restaurant fills
and people wait for tables
while you prattle about TV shows
and avoid raising your cup
while I clutch mine
and concentrate on the warmth
reaching my hands
through the porcelain
and imagine it spreading
up through my arms
calming and softening my heart
with a kind of distraction
from eyes of the hungry
who long for our seats
and also from your many
descriptions of other meals
in other places
and whether the settings
were charming
and if you were sufficiently
delighted
and made comfortable

Memories of the Full Moon, by Saskya van Nouhuys

the full moon
the smell of wet leaves
stepping on snails whose shells break
under my bare feet

the full moon
that doesn't get close
as I drive toward it

the full moon
its reflection on the water
the sound of that lit water, unsettled
bumping against the dock

the full moon
looks too big in the sky
next to those delicate sparkly stars
especially because it is orange