Too Much Roar
From a window ajar, dinner is assaulted
by the acid tang of humanity; rancid in the heat.
The city drools on its perceived self-importance
while gingered heels tap on metro cafes.
Plates of buffet reek of indigestion
and to warmly meet anyone sours a face.
Goblets of wine dominate this artificial scene
where dressed people hide an appetite, voracious.
Hypocrites! And my eyes look around
at their table manners where guests dine
as politely as they can---small nibbles
that in truth, fakish men devour main courses.
Deprived of a Sunday's blessed prayers,
need they roar about how delicious
is the their expensive food?
Contest On A Poem That Didn't Place and More
25 Aug 2015
Franco Gonza
Copyright © Franco Gonza | Year Posted 2015
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