Poet-Tea

 
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.