Poem #2,857 | We have these chairs [unattended]

We have these chairs
[unattended]
in rooms without visitors –
Here an
unannounced party was started up
by after-bar wanderers –
Hosting a
half-dozen sour souls to love you
[a
table to centre us all] was my gift –
a conclave before a pope –
Now he
is dead –
you are dead –
even if out
on this dreaded High Street –
you a
dead lover of gatherings round you
& un-seated too –
I’ll not invite you