Lunch
We sit across the table
not really sure of each other.
It’s hard to make friends
after the 2nd grade.
We’ve both been burned,
recently too.
So the plans we make
aren’t even tentative.
Just, we’ll meet again, soon.
McDonald’s seems an odd place
to talk about churches that aren’t really churches,
relatives that have us in a quandary,
the price of gas.
Where else can you get a burger for a buck?
In this small town, nowhere else.
So I drink my sugar Coke, a no-no.
And she dips into her sweet n’sour sauce.
She dominates the conversation.
I don’t mind. It’s so
nice to be asked to lunch,
I don’t even care.
Then I go home and take a nap.
This social butterfly is tired.
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