In restaurants we discuss
our plans for the week
Always seeking these places
to absorb mounds of tasty fat
New health plans that satisfy
our sense of self-obligation
But nothing has changed in our lives
not yet at least
Though the real question is
have you reached your goals
it is pondered, with a head scratch
if I have any at all
I raise my fork (not sure if it is the right one)
over the plate of Nagamese Pork Curry
Dramatically I perform a theatrical stab
and the fork lands in the eggplant pomodoro
a long string of noodle flings itself
to the neck of my companion
It wraps around her beautiful nape
as she grasps her desperate throat
She chooses to scream
but the sound comes out in aria
Der Hölle Rachehe rings the rafters
there is not a dry eye in the house
I commended her on her performance
and she stared at me in rage
in denial of her chameleon act
from black evening dress to velvet robe of ruby
I also mentioned the awe she drew
as well as the odd look of annoyance
She looked at me in query, and I then explained to her
some think you are encouraging witchcraft
I decided to gather the repast to my eager lips
ignoring her plea for fame
I wasn’t quite sure why she wasn’t enthusiastic
regarding the fine cuisine before her
You gave me a chuckle……I could hear Margaret Attwood’s voice throughout.