After the Red Devil
   by Caroline Finkelstein

I rode the train south.
On the left, Vesuvius appeared, on the right,

the Bay of Naples, just as blue,
green-blue, as the walls

of The Red Devil,
a New York restaurant

where we went, already a family cliché:
a trio of dysfunction.

God, the vast
terrifying narcissism

of us all, like rain not stopping,
or like ash falling

on a matron in her garden in moonlight,
the columns in moonlight,

a brutal, little bird on her finger
in the twilight moonlight.

Copyright © 1999 by Caroline Finkelstein


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