Micah Blue Smaldone - A Guest

Not until the guest arrives
Sets his boots beside the fire
Draws a chair between you and I
To a table set before our birth

Not until the cork is pulled
Every glass flows with wine
And heads recline in unison
As we sip and swallow hard

Not until the soup is brought
Thin with sweat from the brow
Of our cook who knows not how
To feed his friends and not his foes

Not until the bones are bare
Crooked spoons cast aside
Like the glance of our guest
Who bows his head, though not in prayer

Not until the meat is served
Prostrate, freshly slain
By a man who cries for naught
Not a beast who cries for the moon

Not until our guest is full
Wet with gore, his handsome beard
Pushes forth a littered plate
With swollen, filthy hands
Not until our glasses sound
Against the hearth, and to the floor
Shattered chimes of merriment
Silence reclaims the room

Not until our guest has turned
Making haste to the door
To stagger on, across the yard
Down the road, towards the dawn

Will I rest

(vocalizing)