On the house
I came to eat a meal on New Year’s Day
(the start of what I’m still not sure)
and found the bread and fruit and cheese laid out on every table,
water for our thirst.
I sat and drank and ate and talked to those who sat beside me,
the each of us bedraggled and unshaven.
A few among us even found the strength to talk of children, daughters and sons,
while others only held their beards in thought.
A meal of melding hopes and hurts and hauntings, homeless.
But then the suits arrived and flashbulbs crashed
our tranquil repast, tawdry now perhaps,
they sought our stories hearts unburdened cares that we could place untrammeled on their shoulders,
offering a helping hand.
had eaten everything
except the cans of Coke we thought to save for later on,
made up a line to file out the door (they only show the photos coming in)
delaying over ways to say goodbye,
When suddenly I thought, but not aloud,
What did they miss?