“Lunch?” I offer my statement,
Opening argument,
(Annoyance)
“Fine.” Acceptance,
(Yes)
And now,
Were sitting here,
(But you’re not)
You’re obscurely,
(Under the table)
Walking the French Riviera,
Inhaling the ladies perfumes,
And the sweet smell of,
The wind in your face.
While I,
(Alone)
Smell the food,
(You haven’t touched)
And you smile,
(Haughtily)
At all that I’ve eaten,
Compared to your (full) plate.
But why would you (need to) eat?
When you’re full of French pastries,
And Italian spaghetti twirled,
(Just so)
Around a (sterling) silver fork.
You gasp,
At another (better) friend’s comment,
And jump at a,
(Preplanned)
Emergency.
“I have to go,” you say.
(A lie)
(Just)
To tell
(Me)
“I care.”