Dave Bonta's short poem looks at a restaurant meal from two sides: the kitchen and the table. In the first lines, the cook's work becomes a "dance," but her partner is a clock. She isn't moving to music so much as to deadlines, timing every dish so it arrives at the right moment. That image makes pressure look graceful, and it also hints at how relentless it is.
Then the poem turns to the diners, "we," which includes the speaker. We go out to be surprised, and we enjoy it, but we don't stop to think about the person who makes that pleasure possible. The phrase "fleet enough" suggests speed and nimbleness, as if the cook has to be quick just to keep our delight on schedule.
The mood is quiet and gently reproachful. The speaker doesn't scold; he admits that we are all a bit thoughtless. The poem leaves us with a small, slightly uncomfortable awareness of the labor behind a good evening.