Dinner Rush

Nov 15 2011

The sound of wine

as I pour,

my eyes

do not leave yours.

The deep red liquid

sloshes up,

'til the rising pitch of glug-glug-glug

hits the perfect note.

Both half full.

The place overflows,

the white noise of voices

tapping forks.

The anonymity of crowds,

at which we mouth our disapproval

yet still seek out.

So we can speak

freely here.

A middling wine,

given time to breathe

open up

smooth out the roughness.

Half-empty glass.

The clatter of dishes
convivial whispers

a boisterous laugh.

An earnest waiter

reciting specials,

a platter crashed.

And a tipsy old man

navigates tables,

like a listing vessel

that’s leaking fast.

As instrumental jazz

spools from the speakers,

a chair scrapes back.

I say I’ll have

the same as you,

a gesture of trust

a nod to deference.

Which you promptly over-rule

as unadventurous.

And now

your food untouched

I default to topping up my glass.

You pass,

the back of your hand

cupped demurely.

We could be an old married couple

still in love,

who can sit in perfect silence

together.

Or we could be far too young

to have nothing left to say;

or to have said

something regretted.

Here, in the ideal setting

for awkward pauses

grinding stops.

A brooding silence

where there’s too much room for thought.

Immersed

in this pleasant babble

of flushed patrons

and harried waiters

is like a warm innocuous bath,

in which I’d gladly vanish.

I feel as if I’m underwater,

straining for breath

hearing my heart in my head.

Yet dry

barely able to swallow.

A horrible thirst

no wine can quench.

This started with the idea of filling a wine glass by sound:  the rising pitch of glug-glug-glugs. Which immediately became pouring for two. This sound motif became the ambient sound of a restaurant; and the narrative drive the usual romantic complications.

I like the use of countervailing images, such as noise & silence, empty & full, wet & dry. The wine breathes. The man gasps for air.