A blind pianist plays Chopin’s Scherzo No. 2.
The music haunts our guests as each note lurks.
Who decided on serving them seafood risotto, dear?
I didn’t approve of this. I didn’t say this was okay!
Her eyelids open to show me empty sockets.
She tugs knotted handkerchiefs from them. Laughs. Isn’t this a gas?
No one thinks any of this is funny—
Not since a guest choked on a beet and died on our rug.
Our maid hums as she tidies up the inconvenience.
It drives my wife mad—who approved her song? Make her stop.
Our maid doesn’t speak English.
Not understanding, she opens her mouth to sing a widower’s song.
Make her stop! Make her stop!
And my wife cries for the first time in years as she bangs the table.
Next month, we’ll bring our first child into this home.
I ask the guests to toast to the beauty of that.
They can’t grab their coats quick enough.
Now alone, I tell my wife that I’ll be reading in my study.