a brush, with

I hung out with a poet once. Not an important one,
- are there important ones? Nowadays, I mean -
but published, at least. Published in books.
And an expert in poetry, one should say.
He teaches it, or at any rate, literature - in Ohio.
His name's George. Once we sat eating Greek:
my girlfriend and I, he and his sister,
all around a square table. Or maybe not his sister
now that I think again. Her absence, rather,
hovered over us as we sat eating Greek, and
discussing a book - not an important one, but
by a prominent guy, at least. I read it later on.
It was kind of perverted!