I enjoy writing my blog. However, my first love is writing poetry.  Since it is MY blog, I figure why not merge the two? Especially since most of my poetry tends to have a rather domestic edge.

This is a sestina.  I love writing sestinas. How it forces you to play with and stretch words and how the six repeating words spiral in and out. This poem has a Mad Men feel, it makes me want a martini and a vintage cocktail dress. Of course, lots of things make me feel that way.

That Party

by S. Bisson

The table is laid with a creamy yellow cloth,

piled high with finger sandwiches – crusts removed,

silver trays display towers of sinful pastries,

stemware glistens waiting to be filled with champagne.

From the stereo, Ella whispers seductions.

In the hall mirror a final check of lipstick.

The first guest arrives – blue dress and coral lipstick.

She removes her coat and smoothes the silken cloth

of her dress, smiles. She ponders the seductions

the night will hold. More guests arrive. More coats removed.

Introductions made. The first bottle of champagne

is popped. A man stands nibbling a frosted pastry.

A curvy woman bemoans that just one pastry

could ruin her diet. She sips and leaves lipstick

on her glass. “Better,” she says, “to stick to champagne.”

Someone drops a sandwich and wipes it with a cloth.

A server comes around. Used glasses are removed.

The couple in the corner begins a seduction.

There is a connection between food and seduction.

A group of ladies linger, tasting each pastry.

The couple in the corner are now far removed

from the party. His cheek wears a smudge of lipstick.

She giggles and removes it with a linen cloth.

Ella murmurs, “I get no kick from champagne…”

By the stereo, someone trips and spills champagne.

The guests gossip about the corner seduction.

By the bar, a man wipes his brow with a cloth.

A lonely guy scarfs down the rest of the pastries.

Two ladies excuse themselves to repair lipstick.

A window is open. Ladies’ heels are removed.

From the table, empty platters are now removed.

The lonely guy empties the last of the champagne.

There is a quick reapplication of lipstick

in the corner. His wife comes to end the seduction.

He fidgets nervously and blabbers of pastries.

The wife spies the lipstick stain on his collar’s cloth.

Even after the lipstick stain is removed,

they will recall the soiled cloth and the champagne.

Wistful memories of seduction and sweet pastries.