Wait To Be Seated

Cups of orange juice spilt
Over minor street vocabulary words,
Spoken softly sifted
Through subtle smoke signals
And parenthesis, cued laughter genuine
And honest caught between pauses in sentences
Off timed phrases- “I could piss in the street”
“Well wouldn’t that be a sight to see” she says smiling, quirky
And clueless the silverware hasn’t been touched
Excuses brushed aside with hand motions,
Shy tongues napkins used
To clean the table stumble with
Meaningless phrases like
“I’ll have the chicken cordon bleu”
And “I love you”


Author: Montana Svoboda

I'm a genderless poet currently living in Central Michigan where I attend college for Environmental Science and English. Nature's some cool shit, frisbee's a neat activity, fountain pens are best pens, Latakia for life, coffee and tea keep these gears turning.

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