Thus We Whirled Along (Orleans XXXI) ('91)

The stairway opened down onto the
living room full of people,
of disparate ages and similar features
The men were loud, the women sly
in a funny shy way,
and the children enjoyed
each others company at a level
that seemed impossible-its energy
had to be self-destructing eventually, didn't it?
But no.
It grew, it fed upon the platters of
chips and vegetables which circled
bowls of dip.
It tinged off of glasses sitting on
dark tables, and the ice cubes that sat
in the tonic and gin
stayed cold.
This thus played with all the elements,
the men compensating by becoming
louder and funnier, and the women's
sly shyness was accentuated and therefore
broken more clearly when they
offered up a cutting comment about
the behavior of their men.
The men, the women, and the children,
thus whirled along, their features blurring
the same but immediately individually
identifiable.
Thus whirled along the gears,
turning the clock perfectly,
no second even a bit behind
and the roots of the tree
dug deeper into the winter ground,
covered with snow,
so that the leaves could force themselves
upon the world again in the spring

The fire roared
The plates clinged and clanged
The glasses emptied and filled
The children ate in one room
The adults in the next
The gears locked and unlocked
and locked again
Thus we whirled along