A Different Kind of Night

We have always welcomed people over

but this was a different kind of night

We sat around the large square table

and passed crisp greens and freshly made pasta

The smell of slow cooked garlic steeped in oil wafed throughout the warm house

Much like it has many times before

but this was a different kind of night

Dinner ended and the empty plates remained but the warm red wine continued to flow

as did the words of the poets who had brought us together

We shared the words of newly discovered friends

And read aloud Bukowski, Collins, Oliver and Kooser

but not before we "Howled" with Allen

We each took a page and read with our own little spin

No one being perfect with a slight stumble, stammer and mistep

but it was honest and we all rode together

transcended through each verse, line and stansa

It was a different kind of night

And Deb asked what it meant

And Claude said that it didn't matter

And it didn't.