Out in The World
Nov 23 2022
The solitary diner
sits at a small round table
that looks like an after-thought,
a spot by the swinging door
close enough to catch the breeze
of waiters whisking in and out
balancing trays.
He eats alone.
Ignores the buzz
of overlapping conversation,
couples happily chatting,
and the effervescent laughter
that randomly bubbles up.
The easy-listening jazz
playing in the background
softens the hubbub
and matches his manner well.
And if anyone glances his way
he refrains from looking back.
Today's paper
is unfolded before him.
His phone is put away.
The waiters' comings and goings
seem not at all distracting.
If he's self-conscious
he doesn't show it.
So, is he anti-social,
broken-hearted,
a salesman on the road?
Should we be feeling sorry
for a bored traveller,
a jilted lover,
a man in mourning?
Or concerned?
Because we're made nervous by loners;
surely something's wrong with them.
He eats slowly and methodically
and lingers over the sports,
then leaves a generous tip
and quietly departs.
None of my business, I think,
curious about his story
but reproaching myself
for having watched.
After all, I often dine alone,
standing by the kitchen sink
eating something reheated
or straight from the fridge.
The big difference
between him and me
is I do it unseen.
I should admire his composure
instead of feeling sorry.
A man, sure enough of himself
to risk exposure
before all those prying eyes;
out in the world
dining alone.
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