China Plate Poem by Francie Lynch

Find some sense.

Arrange your fingers and forks

Along napkin edges. Press.

Show patience for the parade beneath your nose.

Lift your glass through which we

Sideways glance.


(that drop of wine in your smile
won't get wasted)


My fingers move along the plate,

Ringing the gold-banded China.

Real rings of breeding.


We often dine with these relics around the table.

Our thoughts become palatable.

Our lowered nods cut the silence.


To our right sits the fool, the touchy

Feely kind.


Talk, like run-off splashes to rinse

Such foolish gesticulations.

(her glass spills, blotting the cloth)


I heard a lack of oxygen at birth was the downfall.

Never to recover, never to know, never an option.


Bliss and kiss of ignorance.

The seed of such recklessness

Sits, and drips on her China plate.