You couples do not see me, you
who enter laughing, hand in hand,
sip from each other’s drinks, and share
an indecisive dish of olives.
I have my hands full here: fork
in the right; book
in the left. I turn
one-handed in the paper walls
of this, my chambre séparée.
The candle glows; the wine’s
a living garnet. O –
you need not pity me. I dine tonight
with Rupert Hentzau.
Kathleen Jowitt 