Pliny grabbed them,
And not hers.
They belonged to Stan
—And projected from the touch.
Pliny had stepped down and spilled liquor
From the stage.
Now he stooped to clean.
This was the table in Stan’s
Under the Jose Cuervo margarita
Portia kept matching towels in pastels and
But Pliny was having none of it.
At their age,
Wouldn’t they want to die in the same