Eating Out

EATING OUT Seated uneasily at the edge tables, café males alone, silent - Focused on eating, heads moving, looking around to defend, Guarding their plates against enemies and, finished, quickly leaving. Am I feeling different from these? Or not really believing? This man, round-shouldered predator over a fresh kill, Shoveling in untidy dangling heaps on a fork, devours his fill, Bare arms laid either side of plate, his shaggy hair a lion-mane. Salty meaty-stuff in great hunks : it’s feeding time at the zoo again. Elbows-off-table, not for manners, but for speed, That man’s cutting with edge of fork and filling his need, Stabbing the meat like it was alive and needed subduing, Levering huge pieces into his mouth and rapidly chewing. In rapid action their jaw muscles ripple : It’s a job of work to be completed as quickly as possible. The chewing muscles in sync with moving ears : Must finish it all off - before any enemy appears. Café-females are nested in the central tables - to chat, to think. In table-groups of two or three, discussing the food and drink , Sweet cakes’ crumbs carefully swept with back of finger, They eat only incidentally, no purpose for them, they linger - It is a process, not a product, an experience, an exchange of souls. Select one from a plate of small sweet rolls, With small bites chewed slowly, elegantly, with thought, Sitting up straight the way mother taught. Hands occasionally touching for spoken emphasis in speech, Unhurried, they pause over coffee and talk intently each to each. Heads move neither up nor down nor away to the side. Over each other’s faces, appraising, their eyes roam wide. I assess these people closely, and rub my chin-stubble in thought: With the eyes of a poet I mentally note their features as I ought. Drink up my coffee quick, and move to the counter for more meat pies Before any enemy arrives.