At my favorite neighborhood place, the food is made fresh by the owner’s own hands, the wine is dark and light, and the company is always a blessing. The table isn’t always lit by candlelight, but just after the Majestic fire the power was spotty for several days, so Anthony had candelabras on hand. Note, too, the décor. Which doesn’t suck.
Tonight’s poems is a triolet–my first one ever–which I hope turned out at least passable. It was inspired by Anthony’s generosity; he gave us sweets to try after we finished our pie, and they were like manna from heaven. So good it was tough to know when to quit!
