Spring 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1991 |

Survivor’s Ballad

She's not sure if it's song or sermon: ballad of a tight-knit trio, graduates of the Monday German,two with beauty, and three with brio. Three were cocky and three were witty; two took a dim view of their past or future; took both to New York City. But twice a year, three lunched at the Astor, as close as thieves in their favorite venue. The waiter welcomed his favorite trio: pink carnations and shiny menu; two with beauty and three with brio. That was long ago, before the trouble—trio, carnations, wine and waiter . . . The Hotel Astor has long been rubble; she doesn't know what was built there later. The beauties fought, and made it up; but after that it was sauve qui peut, with more sharp cracks than a broken cup, and she ended with double lunches à deux. The dark-eyed one was put through pacesby bitter pain, before she went. The blue-eyed one lost names, then faces, then who she was, and what she meant. Song or sermon, poet or pastor, one dream revisits the l

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