Circa 2018-2022???

The Maítre D greeted me with the same contemptuous leer

Hundreds of his kind had greeted me before

As if my clothes were not good enough

My bank account not big enough

And told me to wait and have a seat.

I guess I was the first to arrive,

The dozen of my companions recognizing

When it is best to be fashionably late

A reservation made when reservations

Are what we all had.

The smells I had to admit were to die for,

Though the decor a bit tacky for my taste.

I watched couples swing in,

Couples stumble out

With mumbles about the Madeleines.

I checked my watch, I checked the date

My late-arriving party perhaps cancelled,

When the Maítre D held the door

And muttered obsequious hellos

As the host's cufflinks lit up the foyer.

"I am not sure where to go with this,"

He asked the bowing bow-tied servant,

And he tossed the keys across the counter.

As they upset the snifter of matchbooks

His highness came down to the ground.

"Allow me to lead you to your table.

The corner will be all yours.

Special tonight is Coq au Vin.

Roasted vegetables and a surprise.

Would you permit to recommend the wine?"

I hustled to keep the pace

And wondered where I was supposed to sit.

Bow-tie held the chair at the head

So the host had his spot,

But where was I supposed to go.

"I doubt it really matters what you decide,"

The host beckoned me to the whole table.

"First to come, first to succumb

To the randomness that is our lives.

Just keep one open for one denied."

It seemed odd that the water

Spilled across the