We Who Came… by Stefanie Bennett

I am not a silent poet

We who came through the generations
Emptied the pepper
All over the dessert.
Knifed Arabic
In the gravy.
Dealt out spoons – the royal
Flush of poker.
Turned the wineglass
Into paper-cups.
Fed cheese and anchovy
‘Over there’
To a mange-mimic connoisseur.
Set the finger-bowl alight
And quarrelled
Words and sent them
Off to another
Serious luncheon.
The balloons we left intact.
Air. No-one’s
Put a price on it.

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