Saturday, February 26, 2011

Party Crasher

Uninvited, It sits with us, cold.
We try to ignore the way it stares.

It’s infringing on our space until the booth
becomes uncomfortable. One of us says

“I’m so busy I haven’t eaten or peed for three days.”
The waitress delivers the sandwiches and salads.

Barb rolls up her sleeve to show us her implantable port.
We see the tube running up her arm

into an incision in her neck, we know it also runs inside her.
“Only twenty rounds of radiation now

like a long slow round of of golf, one hole a day.“ We laugh.
Nobody seems to know that "golf" stands for gentlemen only

ladies forbidden. “Does my wig look like a wig?” we both shake
our heads vigorously, “No as a matter of fact

your wig looks fantastic, how often do you have to wash
it?” “Every seven to ten days I drop the wig off

at the hair salon to get primped. Sure cuts down time
getting ready in the morning.”

She winks, states twice that she will never again complain
about having to style her own hair.

It shifts uncomfortably in the booth, nudges me to move aside
while eyeing up a group of seniors at the next table.

It wants to go out to play. I shove it back, advise it to settle down.
Bad manners to leave the table when you haven't cleaned your plate.

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