Guest List

When it comes to the perfect guest for dinner,

I can’t think of anyone like my late friend Martin,

Who showed how lucky he felt to be invited

Not by murmuring compliments

But by eating two helpings of every dish,

Indifferent to whether or not the other guests

Assumed he had trouble controlling his appetite.

And when the talk veered close to gossip,

I could count on him to break in with a long,

Vivid description of his latest dream, a jumble of scenes

He needed help arranging. It didn’t matter to him

If others assumed he craved attention,

If they failed to notice how relieved he was

When somebody else broke in with a dream

That seemed more coherent and consequential.

And if somebody wanted to share with the company

A long account of her stroll the evening before

From her house in town to the reservoir,

However uneventful, Martin would ask for more details.

That sounds like the kind of walk he’d prefer any day,

He’d assure her, a walk to see what the dusk might offer,

As opposed to brooding alone in his room.

And when another guest admitted he’d napped

For much of the afternoon in his hammock,

Though his lawn needed raking and weeding,

Martin was quick to defend him against the charge

Of idleness. No better way to welcome the sun

Back from its absence of many days

Than by devoting an afternoon to basking.

Good for you, brother, Martin would say,

For not taking the sun’s return for granted.

Whatever tomorrow asks of you,

Today is a red-letter day on the calendar

When the usual chores must be set aside.