A Job for Mary

I found my ideal job!  It’s true.  I had no idea such a thing was possible, but it is perfect:  Resident Restaurant Poet.  I read about this job in a recent issue of The New Yorker in an article about Macau.  A Michelin star restaurant hired a poet to write a verse for their VIP clients.  Woo Hoo.  I can do that!  I’ll bet the poet receives very nice tips and a great meal, too.  Imagine. 

I’m at my post at La Lune,* and let’s say the Worthy Monsieur Pied enters with his Dedicated  Servir and Faithful Beurre Chaud.   I could write something like this:

Please sit near the three-sided mirror

where I can watch you from all sides.

Like a faceted diamond,

your qualities are revealed

on each cut edge, 

and are multiplied in the

repeated images that extend

into the universe of the night.

Do not leave before sipping the tea

that we all drink here to forget

that our worth is so small

while yours is so great.

* I know, Macau is Portuguese, but I don’t know any Portuguese.  Do you?  And, yes, the girls are back.  They are Dot and Emma, named after my grandmothers.   They just returned from their winter vacation and are looking forward to a lovely and cool summer Up North.

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