Dining

It’s another Poetry Monday. Here is an offering from my favorite poet, as he vagabonded his way across Europe.

dining

it was strange at first,

eating alone in restaurants.

I was in Portugal, so I could afford it-

the food lured me past the discomfort

of “Um, se faz favor,”

and following the waiter to a table set for two,

sitting as he whisked away the spare plate.

a mild paranoia,

what are they thinking about me?

almost always, I was alone in being alone;

couples, families enjoyed company

while I ate in solitude, focused on my food.

a few meals passed

with no one stopping at my table to jeer.

I relaxed, looked up and around.

I watched the diners, tried to read their stories.

I noticed that no one noticed me.

no one to entertain,

no listening to another’s problems,

just me and my thoughts and a free true-life movie

and some damn good Portuguese food.

P. ferenczi

Advertisement