Restaurant Solo

Couples talk in the bar, nibble at nuts,
and twirl the stems of their glasses.
One woman folds and unfolds her flimsy 
bar napkin.  I eavesdrop, act as if 
being alone in such a place 
is my norm.

My drink comes.  I stare 
into the middle distance, 
hear fragments:  "Did you hear 
what she said."
"I told my boss exactly 
what he wanted to hear."  
"Call me next week."

A couple of waiters on break 
talk quietly in a corner 
semi-screened 
from public view.  

Couples called to dinner rise, 
pay their bar tab, carry drinks
to their tables.  Mini carnations 
and white and purple heather 
grace the linen tablecloths.  

Muzak, 'twenties and trumpets, 
covers the sound of footsteps.  
I wait, determined not to accept 
a table by the swinging doors 
to the kitchen.  The hostess 
comes and I walk the gauntlet 
that nobody sees
except me.