And time is…up.
I gotta say, when put to the test, you people really do know how to come through. I asked for poetry. I gave you just three hours (or so) to write them. And we had no less than 33 entries (including one I had to delete because someone decided to be a racist dick). Sure, not all of them were genius, but (nearly) all of them were recognizable as poems. So congrats to all of you.
But still, winners have to be chosen. And this time around we had
two three of them.
The winner of the first set of tickets is Andy B, who came through with a spare but lovely verse about a night that every parent has experienced.
An eight o clock reservation
An Indian Summer night the
Queen Village streets are glowing
The cork is popped, our
faces flush with love and Bordeaux
Our eyes meet, the twinkling of bells
It is my cell phone
It is the babysitter. My son
All Over The Dog
And for that, Andy? A pair of tickets to tomorrow night’s festivities. Let’s hope the kid manages to keep his pudding down this time, huh?
For the second pair of tickets, Charles Alburn gave us some words–just a few, lonely, beautiful words–on the coldest, saddest anniversary ever.
A crudely cleaved steak stiffens on a plate
Gristle and sinew
A knife brays on its surface
A cough opens in the air
A man next to us cracks the binding of a menu
Checking the menu
Foie Gras is misspelled
I catch you looking at your watch
Your eyes move but never meet mine
You comment on the crumbs collected in the finer strands of my cartigan
I brush them away
Strangely embarrassed, slightly angry
I recall you five years ago
Against the same broken tiles
Your cheeks flushed and glowing from the wine
They’ve changed the lighting in here
A half a glass of wine
The silence blankly acknowledged across an ocean of table
Of wood and linen
Oh, and I’m also giving out a third set this time around. Why? Because I can and because–with a baby and an anniversary–I just decided to make this a full circle-of-life kind of day. So the third set of tickets goes to Gijuyn, for her telling ode to modern pregnancy.
I can’t think of anything that rhymes,
even harder to be witty.
I’m just hoping since I’m pregnant
and hungry you’ll take pity.
As if the lack of booze
for 9+ months isn’t enough,
I can’t even eat lunch meat
without heating it up.
I’m reduced to homemade lunches
and leftovers by day,
I have to abstain from seafood
(and cured meats too, by the way).
So while people complain
about a horrible night gone wrong
I hope you’ll consider
my pathetic gestation song:
Please, give me my night out
so that I can dine
on food that I adore,
and my @#$%ing weekly ration of a half-glass of wine.
So those are your winners, folks. And for those of you who couldn’t get through the door with your words, I’d just like to remind you that your credit cards will work just as well. Tickets for tomorrow night’s event are still available at the Garces Family Foundation website.
Hope to see you all there.