NapkinsA Poem by Andrew JohnFreeverse
Can napkins not esteem or honour
a history of being placed gently on laps to catch, take hold of, what is carelessly spilled or dropped, used then to pat lips before being rumpled tenderly, after eating, and placed carefully at one's side? At a table in a bar, a paper napkin on my lap, I look at friends: they have their napkins sitting at the sides of their plates, on that table, folded, ignored, untouched. Is there something wrong with me? (11 Dec 2023) © 2024 Andrew JohnFeatured Review
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