Posters of Juliette Greco, the Eiffel
Tower. A good French bistro in the Village,
Its cuisine by some oversight not yet
Widely known; all the more murmured over
By our party of four avid diners.
Leaning forward over the red-checked cloth.
First course dispatched in record time, I could
Be more deliberate with the second,
Enough to admire each tender forkful
Of the fragrant Coquille St. Jacques, steaming
In its ribbed scallop shell—eyes even so
Straying to glance at plates on either side.