Do come, the affair’s in your honor—you must.
Our house is the last one; you can’t miss the turn.
Hors d’oeuvres will be served in the parlor at dusk.
There won’t be live music, just CD’s we’ll burn
with your taste in mind, from Coldplay to Liszt;
Some Beatles and Dylan, that Chopin nocturne …
No need to call friends—they’re all on our list.
There’ll be rakott krumpli from Budapest,
Olives from Puglia, that cheese from Lucerne,
and chocolate to die for. Don’t try to resist.
Wear something simple but chic. We’d suggest
earthy tones. Think taupe, ash, amber, rust.
This will go till all hours, time’s no concern.
Just come as you are, and bring your own dust.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 28 Number 2, on page 30
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