An Untitled Dinner Poem by Alc Harris

I withdraw easily
from societys grand intentions
my own, lost
in a humdrum world of savlon and masking tape
where making for the door
has become a compulsive obsession

there’s something superficial
about conversation with the lights turned on,
the measure of existence
philosophised over dinner
appears almost humorous

alone, full and warmed
by rich pinotage
the landing light offers no comfort
as the steak turns petrol blue, the canapés
leave a bitter taste
and dreams of emptiness
are the only answers
to a relentless disquiet