Box Wine & Tablecloths

For Arthur

The man sure knew how to throw a picnic.
Forget hampers crammed with fried chicken,
watercress sammies or the like,
a true picnic thrown by our host
first and foremost
called for a sturdy box wine.

Or box daiquiri, box colada, box margarita,
or perhaps you’d prefer a splash of canned champagne,
with a straw?
In any event, portability
was the key,
because a proper picnic site
was attained by bicycle alone.

And a proper libation
required just the right
saddlebag, front pack, or pannier
for its carriage, but no worries:
You name it, he had it.

And on arrival
 - this picnic table, not that one,
closer or further or sunnier to suit the ladies –
there would be neither food nor drink
for the weary traveler
without the laying of the tablecloth.

Unfurled with a flourish,
it was as if it could cover the world,
not least cedar planks,
scorched grass or concrete slabs.

Just as our host always did,
the proper tablecloth
centered our attention
on the pleasures at hand,
brought focus to our folly,
brightened even the merest morsel
or dullest bean salad.

Just as our host did
wherever he went,
the cloth brought a certain courtly charm,
and made a statement:

We had arrived at this place,
made special only by our presence,
our sharing it with each other,
and our host.

As he always said:
Wherever you go, there you are.
And there we were,
at a table-clothed picnic
and in his hands.

Dennis O’Donnell
March 2012

Eulogies for Arthur P. Liebersohn

Daniel Cantor, brother-in-law

Joseph Lieberson, brother

Harry Liebersohn, cousin

Bruce Duffy, boyhood friend

Tess Liebersohn, daughter

Max Liebersohn, son

Dennis O'Donnell, poem

Photo Album

Philadelphia Inquirer obituary