Feeling quite sour on
a bright morning turned bitter.
A no-show let down,
still holding out hope
for company this Sunday afternoon;
to share in good food and laughter,
but it’s been trying, to keep it all together.
Perhaps, I’ll shoot pool by my lonesome.
Or shed my despair until I fall into an empty sleep.
Perhaps, someone will call on me
and join me at my set table,
fixed with a brunch served at two,
prepared for five by one, while one sits and waits.
And it’s already the afternoon.
If I cry, my tears will cut from my face like diamonds, the smile
that was my morning,
the ingredient most special, to infuse our meal with love.
And that with each moment that passes alone,
my smile fades from my soul and bones.
And the vacuous dining area steals my hope,
determined to not cry, I simply become bitter and cold.
© Amber Renaye Wingert
10 November 2013