Sitting around the table each evening
his wife and children pick nervously
at their food, dreading the sound
of the tapping of the knife against the glass,
of the rapping of the spoon upon the table,
signalling that he will rise to his feet
and upstanding, speak for forty minutes.
An hour sometimes, if the wine kicks in.
How they look forward
to those nights when he’s away,
at a conference, say, of managers or teachers.
And they don’t have to listen
to those boring, yawning after-dinner speeches.