A Quiet Meal
Or maybe knew too well.
They certainly didn’t know us
Nor did they care to.
The three women
At the table to my right,
Who were a bit too loud,
Who hated the men they weren’t with
And made it known.
They knew who they were
And that they were right,
Whatever that means.
The single gentleman
At the table to my left,
Alone with his three martini’s.
In his seventies
Who might have loved and lost,
Perhaps one of the women
To my right.
Or, I hoped instead,
His first
And only
True love
Who had died some time ago
Leaving him as he had started.
A new life,
Alone,
Alone, knowing exactly
Who he was and where he was
With no place to go
And nothing to hide.
Behind me,
The three couples
Who all left separately.
The first in a rush to get home
And then to bed
Together
Even though it was only 7:45.
Another to go on
To another pressing engagement.
One they just couldn’t miss
Summoned so urgently
By bold faced text
On their i-phones
Flashing
In the restaurant’s dim light.
And the last
Left to pick up the pieces
Of, perhaps, a long anticipated dinner
With friends
And then to wander off,
Alone but together.
We discussed them all,
My love and I,
Later that evening
When we were home
Not alone but, by choice,
Together.
We decided we were happy
Being visible, or invisible,
As it may be.
For that is who we are,
Who we choose to be.
