The scattered bottles with their missing corks
Spread across the table, wobbling,
Among the crusty spoons, blunt knives, and forks,
Should be reminders, somehow, of something.
Of course I can't remember what it is,
Or even if, whatever it should be,
It had to do with happy champagne's fizz
Or somber chardonnay; perhaps chablis.
I tried to find someone to tell me what
I should remember, but nobody could.
They all were just as ignorant. We shut
The doors upon the mess, and called it good.
And now when I recall that dirty hall
I wonder if we should have cleaned at all.
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