I’m with Mrs. Parker again tonight
And we dine at the usual table
With the usual drinks and the usual toast
To the usual urban fable.
She’s whispering a story
That I’ve heard a few times before,
And I hope she gets to finish it
Before we’re laid out on the floor.
We’re wearing red, the two of us,
Her satin and me the same
Which, pointless, still makes us feel girly
(If forgotten all the same.)
They’ll come and look to eject us
Hours after the final call
And find us sleeping together
Somewhere in the entry hall.
With a toothpick I’ll rise to defend her
Should they call her a sodden lush
Eating olives first in a flourish
As we’re given the old bum’s rush.
We’ll clatter home over the cobblestones
(We’ve come this way before)
To home and in bed I will tuck her
Before napping by her front door.
I love Dorothy Parker’s work so much. My homage. ~Jeannie