House of the Eighth Month

A brisk and gloomy eighth-month eve

A rare Chicago opera trip

Two hungry widowers on the loose

Our friends. a couple, make it four

We stop an ancient mariner

To recommend a place to eat

That diner has expensive taste

'Not cheap,' he notes, but ''tis a treat'

Fancy meets the widower's fancy

Says 'let's educate our palates

We should do this once each decade'

Quarrel not with soundest logic

The drive is long by taxi cab

We leave behind the brighter lights

The stirring sights, the Frank Lloyd Wright

I'd bought a handmade hat that day

A stylish bonnet, beaver on it

Bruno Mars buys his there too

At length, arrived, we peer through Windy rain

A puzzling sight, is this the place?

No neon lights, no flashing words

Is this how fancy dining looks?

A long two-storey home it seems

The number's right, and smallish a sign

Perplexing, vexing, hexing house

Tempting conundrum dark confundrum

Expensive escape room come-by-chance

We've come so far, shall we go in?

It boasts a Michelin star no less

And that should count for something, yes?

The outside's finely nondescript

North Chicago, desert street

The taxi waits while we decide

What waits inside this chilly night?

They must have spent on food that's true

Not on decor, so should be good

Bravely we four try the door

The second floor sounds quite aflutter

They have a stand for bumbershoots

I place my wet coat on a hook

But keep my pricey hat with me

I don't quite trust this neighbourhood

My childhood prayers are close to mind

As I climb thirteen creaky stairs

Then greeted by the Maitre D' admitted to the company

The oaken table is most ample

The menu's fixed, with thirteen courses

My widower friend picks finest wines

Across from me a special girl

We've known each other off and on

In fact it's been six decades long

An extra treat to dine with her

The waitress brings the starting dish

Some leaves and dry ice--what is this?

We read the lenthy cryptic menu

Evening starts with scent of leaves

Memories of smoky bonfires

I take in the welcome fragrance

Keen olfactory assault

White mist wafts nostalgically

My friend tests the special wine

Cups his hand and sniffs with nose

He has storied grapey wisdom

He pronounces, then we drink

I think these are rare black mushrooms

Spiced and diced with saffron rice

Next we're moved into the kitchen

Special pumpkin cocktails come

A team of sous-chefs moves the menu

Back at table, there's a log

Burning holywood, we're told

Myst'ry compote quite umami

Burning log does slowly burn

Truffles now arrive in turn

Time to open second bottle

Good thing I am fairly large

My metabolism's slow

Else I'd not know what I'm eating

Every course convinces me

I'd put them in Michelin's guide

Nothing I had ever eaten

'Mai mangiato,' dreamed of neither

These are truffles but they're different

Gracious waitress needs explain

Happy hours roll tastily

All is very well with me

'What, pray tell, is for dessert?'

Waitress lengthily explains

Edible helium balloon with skin

An apple coating holds it in

I cast a glance that's more than quzzical

She places said balloon in hand

'Take a big bite, inhale it in...

And then you should begin to sing'

'Then what music do you suggest?'

'Most seem to favor Oz's Wizard...'

ENVOI

Biting lustily I chant renowned chanson, 'The Lollipop Guild'

My squeaky strain soars o'er the table

Raucous laughter roils my way

My longtime friend laughs lustily and long

Mysterious haunted house

This exotic eighthmonth