The First Supper
Quarter glasses of wine in half pint mason jars,
Left by those who had their fill.
Hazy visions of friends who wore smiles and
Massaged their cheeks, sore with laughter,
As if perfection came at no great cost.
The farmer stands alone
Looking out past the incodescent bulbs
Love, love, lovely. Wish I was right there in that moment!
You would have been most welcome.