No Metaphors

A poem by Alan Dugan for all of you. Its called "Closing Time At The Second Avenue Deli" Listen to it read by the late poet himself by going here. Closing Time At The Second Avenue Deli This is the time of night at the delicatessen when the manager is balancing a nearly empty ketchup bottle upside-down on a nearly full ketchup bottle and spreading his hands slowly away from the perfect balance like shall I say a priest blessing the balance, the achievement of perfect emptiness, of perfect fullness? No, this is a kosher delicatessen. The manager is not like. He is not like a priest, he is not even like a rabbi, he is not like anyone else except the manager as he turns to watch the waitress discussing the lamb stew with my wife, how most people eat the whole thing, they don't take it home in a container, as she mops up the tables, as the cashier shall I say balances out? No. The computer does all that. This is not the time for metaphors. This is the time to turn out the lights, and yes, imagine it, those two ketchup bottles will stand there all night long as acrobatic metaphors of balance, of emptiness, of fullness perfectly contained, of any metaphor you wish unless the manager snaps his fingers at the door, goes back, and separates them for the night from that unnatural balance, and the store goes dark as my wife says should we take a cab or walk, the stew is starting to drip already. Shall I say that the container can not contain the thing contained anymore? No. Just that the lamb stew is leaking all across town in one place: it is leaking on the floor of the taxi-cab, and that somebody is going to pay for this ride.