A reservation is a must, and we have one;
the owner sees us to our table, calm, polite;
and even as we seat ourselves, the waitress comes:
fresh water, menus, order wine, and start the night.
The ambiance and conversations start to build:
we dip the bread in olive oil and vinegar
sip rich red wine and flashing smiles and drink our fill
of family stories born in warm Italian vinyards.
A salad, antipasto in a pesto poem
and more red wine and doughy bread and olive oil
and simmering homemade pasta with the taste of home
and friendly conversation in a family style.
Finally chilled tartuffo with a chocolate dust
and aromatic coffee in which we dip biscotti
then dawdling over the evening and the music as we must
until we head for home, relaxed, concupiscent, naughty.
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