I recently ate dinner with 4 other poets. 2 have numerous books, 2 have chapbooks, 1 had some light journal publishing. 3 drank wine. All sipped water. 1 swallowed beer. 2 were female. 3 male. 4 married. 1 divorced. One tenured, 3 untenured, 1 soon to be unemployed. 1 had stellar white hair. 1 wore his shirt unbuttoned under a sports coat. 1 had scallops, 1 ate salad, 3 savored a variety of sandwiches. What do you do when you are prolific writer and your publisher won’t publish your newest manuscript until 2013, one asked. 3 scoffed. 1 smiled. One mentioned the Poetry Foundation. 4 scoffed. 1 mentioned he needed his girlfriend to move a way, a new woman to sleep with, some large regret and then he would be able to write again. 4 laughed, smiled politely. 2 spoke of baseball. 2 spoke of a former acquaintance. 2 took leave for the bathroom at different times. 4 meals were comped by the English Department. 1 meal was not. 1 platter of mussels were shared by the table. The meal ended 30 minutes before the one resident poet would be introducing the one visiting poet. One poet, who was doing the introduction of the other poet, would speak for more than 10 minutes about how the visiting poet continued to be a figured that crossed his path, whom he admired. 1 poet would wish there was another poet who could set the standard of how to introduce other poets with as much admiration and fewer words.