I watch you eat
while my left hand
holds the cup with
my right.
You put too much
salt on fries,
and I eat too much
Grilled chicken,
while traffic races
on Reservoir, and a waitress
asks us, 'More cream? '
I slice the sandwich
in diagonal pieces,
ritual Ceasar on the side
Two glasses of lemon
water and two straws,
feet teasing under
the table
while an old man in the
next booth counts
his Penny change,
his Blue-haired wife
sighs,
A curly blonde waitress
asks 'Do I know you? '
Wiping the smudge of
ketchup off my cheek,
you smile at me.
'Beautiful.'
and I know you mean me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Liked this, nice feel to it