Progressive Diner

In my twenties,
Solitary dining was a triumph.
At my well-positioned
table-for-one, I took
elegant bites of
grilled chicken salad
and judgmental sips of
Diet - always diet - Coca-Cola
while perusing my blackberry
to demonstrate that I was confident alone,
but desperately needed.

Now I am 31
And I choose my
table-for-one
outside so I can enjoy
the April weather.
I take my I-Phone out
because I am needed,
but I place it away from
my food -
close enough to see it
light up, but far enough away
that its urgent to-do's
do not disrupt my appetite.
I take my BLT out of
its squeaky white container
and add mayo to the white bread,
understanding that food paid for
is meant to be enjoyed.
I take a hasty bite and gulp water
to wet the desert of my
overly caffeinated mouth
on this 5:20 am kind-of-day.

I look around at tables of
companions, and I envy them . . .
Not because I need a crowd,
but because on this busy day
of posturing and have-to's,
I think I'd enjoy the unpurposed
conversation that comes
when you have lunch
with a friend.