Scratch
---- Big Frank Dickinson
“And will you be eating?” she asked,
Without really waiting for an answer,
Placing the utensils athwart the napkin,
Not pausing for our “No”.
We were drinking, not eating;
Talking, not marking time;
And we started by remarking on
The 50-ish aged inhabitants of this joint.
We were a pretend couple,
Although, they couldn’t have know that;
And it never occurred to us that any of them
Were anything less than bona fide partners,
Half of whom had, according to you,
Minor but extensive renovations: face lifts,
Tucks and stretchings that had left them looking
Much younger and anxious than their hims,
The majority of whom had come to ignore
Their hairless domes and drooping paunches,
But not their beloved scrunches of satisfaction,
Who each in turn, turned to compare the
Amount of hair that was there
On their formerly, what was it that
Had been said – long time before?
In his day quite the head turner; but
Now it was she that turned her head -
Away, not so much in search, as in
Acceptance of the admiration of
What he remembered had once been there.
Her stare glanced off our table,
And it left us wondering if we
Were pretend to her, or some
Memory of what had been.
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