Baked Oysters Rockefeller By Marjorie Evasco Poem by RIC BASTASA

We take shelter from the monsoon rains
In the warm inflections of dinner
Spread out to our liking, a la carte.
The sky’s the old cliché: no limits here,
Chef’s a master at re-incarnating Lapu-lapu,
Or carving a plateful of Manansala’s heart.
Will I, I wonder, be so bold as to say
With a straight face to the waiter: we are
Carnal you see, hungry for the Other.
And we’d like everything as raw as we
Can get it in this civil place, with its piano,
Violin, china, silver, spotless linen.
You look at me, intent, your voice encodes
Bite-sized pleasures — (Kani Sushi, yes?)
Dipped desires — (Oysters Rockefeller, baked?) .
My mind scuttles the crab’s tangent
To our table, shelled; my tongue
sauces at the thought of succulents.
Even when the waiter interjects
Those Rockefellers are out of season,
What a feast live absences meant!