Conversations (The) Poem by Tom Courtney

... and the best thing
would be to perform
One spoke as the two men sat
at the small table in the corner
amidst the clutter of dishes and voices
A single flower long-stemmed and fine
tipped to one side in the slender glass vase
And the waiters came and went
in their judicious haste
Outside the air well into spring
the sky a high dove's egg
pale blue and speckled across the center
The wine rich and earthy
and their chairs on the uneven boards
the voices mixed and melting
into a kind of foliage
in the room reserved for the foreigners
The two men sat in their business suits
learning to wear their disguises
and how to place the cup to the side
And the one man said
he would be a performer
and the other thought he's too intense
It isn't played that way
It's an accident he thought
And the soufflés came
and the salt and peppers went around
And the fans turned slowly overhead
like the twisting prop of a dying airplane
So when did you come here?
It was long ago
I came here for love
Didn't you?
Oh yes, in a manner
yes, the other said
nodding his head
I just have to find a way to express it
These things happen incidentally, don't they?
Yes, that is, if you pursue them
And it's best to know people
who speak in a foreign language
You can understand them more clearly
when you don't know
what they are saying