Porcelain at the picnic,
fine china, silverware,
a blanket made of softest silk,
she arranged them, taking care
to not step on the flowers,
and then she poured us milk.
We sat arranged as gravestones,
our backs as straight as chairs,
sipped milk and munched some sour grapefruit
and bread she'd cut in squares,
then felt the drops of showers
that soon became acute.
She told us to stay sitting,
she'd planned for this all week,
some drops of rain would not stop us
our bodies couldn't leak
-- so they sat there for hours,
while I escaped by bus.