Musings by The Poet Loriet
A La Carte
It's a foreign feeling,
sitting alone in a booth for two
at my favorite restaurant...
but I know you have no choice
but to be with her tonight.
I'll dine alone,
a candlelight dinner with
me, my thoughts, and my notebook,
then I'll rush home,
wait for your call,
hope you can escape
for a few stolen moments,
hoping you can fill the hunger
that the special of the day
never could.
I picture you,
making your excuses.
You try to break through
the walls that keep us apart,
but our love for each other
fell through the cracks.
I butter them and my dinner roll,
waiting for you to slip through,
because even my dessert tastes barren
when I'm dining alone...
nothing to hold me
except for the ghost of your arms.
I order another glass of wine,
attempting to numb
the space it takes
to get from me to you.
Lori Beal
sitting alone in a booth for two
at my favorite restaurant...
but I know you have no choice
but to be with her tonight.
I'll dine alone,
a candlelight dinner with
me, my thoughts, and my notebook,
then I'll rush home,
wait for your call,
hope you can escape
for a few stolen moments,
hoping you can fill the hunger
that the special of the day
never could.
I picture you,
making your excuses.
You try to break through
the walls that keep us apart,
but our love for each other
fell through the cracks.
I butter them and my dinner roll,
waiting for you to slip through,
because even my dessert tastes barren
when I'm dining alone...
nothing to hold me
except for the ghost of your arms.
I order another glass of wine,
attempting to numb
the space it takes
to get from me to you.
Lori Beal
Comment On This Poem ---
A La Carte
A La Carte