Mid Afternoon Meals
Whiskers sweep around her
sweet little wrinkled lips
weathered by age.
His hair cascading
silver grey curls around
his ripped flannel shirt
and balding top.
Everyday he orders
the same.
Country ham steak,
eggs sunny, with a side
salad. Ranch dressing.
The consistency captivates
attention, and while
he sits back and settles on
the regular.
Her plump little
breakfast sausage fingers
scan the menu for
something new.
Sometimes she writes
in Gaelic translating
fagoli and ravioli
into historic tongues.
The laugh with me about
the theatre, symphonies
and art.
In her faded tie dye she
jots down my schedule
because they won't sit
with anyone else.
We spend these
mid afternoon meal moments.
Sitting in a familiar booth
watching the sun slide
into the building tops.
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