Polite Company - June 20 2026

 

Polite Company

June 20 2026

In polite company

it was unseemly to clean your plate.

At fine dining establishments

bar mitzvahs and weddings

or as a guest away from home,

the knife and fork

were to be set primly together

off to one side,

and a half-eaten offering

left for the gods

if not the busboy.

Or so I thought.

As if |I wasn't a bottomless teen

but a blue-blooded duchess

with bird-like bones and see-through skin

picking at her food.

At home, of course

there were “children starving in Europe”

(it was a while ago!)

and we were expected to clean our plates,

an act of empathy

and gratitude.

Even if it was liver

or Brussels sprouts.

The dog would lick them afterward;

an eager gourmand,

and apparently

a true humanitarian

who felt for hungry kids.

I still find it hard

not to finish everything

full or not.

Raised by frugal parents

for whom waste was a sin,

and who saw ostentation

as unbecoming,

I can't help

but be my mother's son

  --  the Great Depression, imprinted on my DNA

and passed down

no matter what.

So I watch wistfully

as my leftovers are whisked away

by hovering waiters,

disappear

behind swinging double-doors.

No doggy bag, no dog.

No asking for more.