The Waiter

Tonight I am going to be a waiter From yesterday's empty streets Mysterious dinner guests will arrive At a time of their own choosing First to appear, my father Ever early. His cutlery placed Four centimetres apart, And not a smidgeon more He will sit above the salt The patriarch, head of the house We will drink to death and grief In the blood of our joined history My mother will come in a trail of perfume She will require a rack of empty hangers To accommodate her clothes and costume jewellery Her furs will growl softly in a corner My grandmother shall sit in the seat nearest the fire I shall light candles around her Offer flowers to kindness, charity, love Grandfather's clock has been struck dumb Invisible hands polish its frozen face In the corner, the piano aches For the touch of my absent brother When he comes in, the strings Under its lid will quiver Like a barren woman seated by a cradle Silenced music is a refinement of torture