Lunch - Poem by nick low
Will you respect me less?
As we sit, folded fingers at the ready,
blindly probing for back in the day feelings
over a dish of the day meal in this place that sounded
Oh so, Oh so appealing.
Can we rescue this?
As we look, Through moulded sunglasses
and I catch a glimpse
of another disaster
that's around my corner.
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