Watching

Being alone in the bustle of the
lunch crowd –
Stood up by a sick over-sleeper
who missed bland carrot soup
and biting vinegar on Boston lettuce
Watching…

The man at the next table who
could eat and talk without
ever breathing, leaving his
lunch partner in the verbal
dust and debris of his ego.

The four rabbis clustered together;
the elders ancient in life
listening knowingly to the two
starters pitching their best.

Two old friends greyed together
critiquing the soup and
turkey recipes.

The young matrons polishing their
social knives on the absent
sisters and their hapless families.

The black clad owner who was
everywhere but not where he
wanted to be.

All for the watching, gift of the
sick over-sleeper on a cold day
at the back table on the long pew.