For Ester, The Reader Poem by RIC BASTASA

so i arrive there a little bit late
met by this fat lady with curly hair and
lots of pearls wound around her neck
and she smiles at me telling me that
you are reading religiously what i have
written for all those years and that
you like it very much and of course
as a normal human being i am a little
bit flattered with what little praise
is there intended also for my thirst.

but i am not that stupid that she did
not at least bother to compliment me
by saying that she too loves what i
have written, and so my instinct of
self preservation works again as my
mouth begins saying, 'oh, yes i know
ester, she has a private pool, lives
peacefully now in a far flung place
where i also live and by all means
despite her age, she had survived so
well from all depressions and she
looks much younger than her age, much
younger than you.' And that ends the
conversation, as i write my name on
the attendance sheet, as though i am
a famous actor putting an autograph to
a non-existent fan in front of me.