Feasting on Solitude with Everybody


A lone glutton
Pinch corners of a menu
And migrate vision
From a laminated listing of food items
To scan patrons arranged in booths and tables.

An armchair voyeur
Interpreting body language
In lieu of silent lip animation.

Shall I praise the perseverance
Of a near whisper
Lugging the obese voices of men
Discussing business
Muffling verbs with a mouth-full of lunch break?

They discuss profits
I necessitate disgust
“Fuck them”
Piques in response
To a question about raises.

But I am partial to labor rights,
Living as a hopeless romantic
With a communist’s soul.

I read Robert Lowell’s poetry
For comfort and company
Waiting for my meal. He rejected
His suicidal hunger
To feast on privileged disparity.

I eat alone
I like the company.

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