The Napkin
Let’s try again to get the setting straight.
Great Gram, Mémère and Mom taught us this way:
Fold napkins neatly to the left of plate.
Forget those fancy folds you’ve tried of late.
Peacocks and fans are such absurd display.
Let’s try again to get the setting straight.
Each year, we struggle with this same debate.
It’s pointless since you know you’ll never stray.
Fold napkins neatly to the left of plate.
One day, you’ll see this simple crease you hate
inspires, not constrains, as you portray.
Let’s try again to get the setting straight.
The china and buffed silver’s set for eight.
Now place the linen. It’s a holiday!
Fold napkins neatly to the left of plate.
You silly girl – the shock you would create
by trading your set table for buffet.
Let’s try again to get the setting straight.
Fold napkins neatly to the left of plate.
by Kyle Potvin
Kyle Potvin is principal of a public relations firm in New England. She was named a finalist in the 2008 Howard Nemerov Sonnet Competition. Her work has appeared in publications including The Lyric, Iambs & Trochees, JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association), and The 2008 Poets' Guide to New Hampshire as well as online in Literary Mama and The New York Times' "Well" blog. She is a member of the Hyla Brook Poets, affiliated with the Frost Farm in Derry, NH.
Villanelle for the Status Quo
Inertia keeps us in the marriage bed;
we are just too damn tired to make a change,
and so we carry on till we are dead.
“I thought about a mistress,” he once said,
“but never followed through. It's like some strange
inertia keeps us in the marriage bed."
We play diversionary games instead:
computer, tennis, bridge, or driving range.
And so we carry on till we are dead.
When love unravels, we can see the thread,
but happiness is too hard to arrange;
inertia keeps us in the marriage bed.
The golden years have somehow turned to lead,
the once-lush life is showing signs of mange;
and so we carry on till we are dead.
Passionate sinners once, now safely wed,
find peace for passion such a poor exchange.
Inertia keeps us in the marriage bed,
and so we carry on till we are dead.
by Susan Peters
Susan Peters grew up in Kansas. After living overseas for fifteen years, she has recently returned to her Midwest roots. A member of the Kansas City Writers Group, she has won awards for her poetry and has been published in Lucidity, Best Modern Voices: Words for the New Millennium, Writer’s Journal and the Gale Group’s Countries and Their Cultures. Her prose and poetry will be featured in the upcoming Kansas City Voices.