Dinner with Zukovsky

Dinner with Zukovsky

It was 1963. Paul invited his friend Dave
and Dave invited me, his then girlfriend.

The dinner in a Manhattan brownstone
with father and mother, was private;

no others present. Tongue-tied I
merely listened. Knew nothing of his

work and less of Catullus. Didn't know
Celia had written the genders, cases,

and meanings word-for-word
below the Latin lines. Learned

that Catullus was bawdy, but couldn't
discern why Celia had hung such dark

ink-blue and white drapes, so different
from what Mother would have chosen.