Equally Precarious

After my Sunday trek

To the woods where

I sat so silently

An unsuspecting fox

With a chipmunk

Clasped in her teeth

Loped near taking

No notice of me

I was thoughtfully invited

To a richly furnished

Polished paneled room

A Friends gathering

On the Kenyon campus

Where I again sat

Silently and afterward

Invited to tea though

Still the awkward town boy

I unassumingly tagged along

The frail hosts a long retired

Professor and his wife

Cups saucers finger foods

And haunched perched

On edges of brittle chairs

Were all equally precarious

Cautiously even daintily

I ventured to cut

A heavily nutted cheeseball

The knife handle

Blue and white ceramic

Exquisite Dutch Delftware

In intricate vine scroll glaze

Came apart in my hand

Hopelessly ruined

Flakes of Old World rust

Sprinkled garnishing

A delicate lace tablecloth

The hostess near tears

Smiled slightly tightly silently

Through my clumsy apology

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David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, is a Pushcart nominee. His work appears widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.