The Partial Explanation

 Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.

Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.


Seems like it has grown darker
Since I last heard the kitchen door
Behind my back
Since I last noticed
Anyone pass on the street.


A glass of ice-water
Keeps me company
At this table I chose myself
Upon entering.


And a longing,
Incredible longing
To eavesdrop
On the conversation
Of cooks.

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