Steeped in
flagrante
verbs
and custom,
staged in banqu’t
room
of starred
hotel,
starting
a midsummer
afternoon until
dusk,
she invited me to hyperbole
….
a place without motif
…
presented petit 4’s
meant to be 8,
scones w
jams & dream,
and the traditional, time-honored
hero
–sandwiched
in unencumbered linens
on silvered tray
–tiered
in
merry
~go~
round–
requesting guests
RSVP.
wear elaborate
baseball hats
festooned with flowers,
& broach,
but leave them
at the door
–synecdoche
& shoes, too,
since,
as expected—
it was a barefoot affair
at heart.
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