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Leave Taking

And who am I to suggest that the tables
be bussed before being turned?
You know as well as I that when that happens
there's no telling which things will end up.
And what about the Grand Opening the other day
with you standing next to the condiment isle
amidst petit fleurs, balloons, clowns,
and various other artsy types?
I went back to the musical notes
I had so dutifully played
throughout the unfolding
when artist statements some better than others
came blizzarding in from the four corners
inundating us with inconceivables.
Did anyone really care beyond the requisite texts?
Beyond the lint-picking uneasiness?
By the way did you put in for the door prize?
What's there to lose at this point, at the gaming table,
trophies cluttering the breezeway?
Later, to occupy myself, I thumbed
through yellowing pages
while studying my reflection
in shiny metal clothes racks
trying to figure out
what became of the person I thought I was.
The person I wanted to be.
I even considered the suitability of past players
bundled against the seasonably cold temperatures
but found no one who satisfied my predilections.
I eventually left with a trio
of 25-watt globes under each arm
and spent the rest of the evening spellchecking.
I did see you again though
as you were leaving
folding yourself into your late model subcompact
all leather and lace, receipts trailing in the backdraft.