About Five Days


Dawn was their greeting time.
Welcome back, he said quietly.


She couldn't believe
what day it was.
They ate lunch in a
glass box, a kind of
winter cafe.


As the day faded, she
hurried back to her room,
bathed, put on new perfume.


There were lights from a river
barge. On his dark balcony
they drank very dry martinis.


In Manhattan, where everything
is possible, they took a taxi
to Sans Souci
where the other woman waited.
She wore a taupe blouse.
He ordered savage mushrooms,
braised endive, great plates
of limpid oysters, an elaborate
raspberry mousse intended for
the three of them.
The taupe woman, slim as a stork,
said no, she'd better not.
The two of them ate every bite.
That was the fifth day.