Ancient Supper
They brought the golden pitcher, the big silver bowl.
They washed their hands, sliced bread, ate.
The ephebe wasn’t hungry. He was silent. He was
examining the face of the stranger when, sometimes,
his fork created a shadow like a mast.
Then the old singer tuned his guitar.
Big plane tree leaves fell on the plates
next to the bones of cattle. Multi oared ships, from
the Neios harbor, came through the door and
stood upright in the middle of the hall. Him, with
the hairy, naked chest held the yoke of the last ship
having blindfolded his eyes with a white kerchief.
Manolis Aligizakis 