On visiting the "pastoral center"- a poem

There are never enough seats.
Late-comers wander
cup of coffee in one hand
bag in the other
begging.
Finally,
a crew comes
to set up one more table
still not enough seats
and half of the lucky ones
(with original seats)
crane their necks
and twist their backs
straining to attend politely
to the guest speaker,
who stands far behind them.
The last ones in
pull chairs from a stack near the door
and try to balance
their notebooks on their laps
set their coffee on the floor.
Everyone is uncomfortable
but the hosts,
who sit
at the front tables
at the foot of the speaker
with their backs to their
guests.