a red crow dines alone while forks spoon   again. these corners of cafes restaurants lounges. you must situate yourself strategically to catch it all-- the hair, the memories, longings     ambient sounds false sincerities, organic whispers under synthetic lights. there are always others   dinning alone. at tables where hopeful glasses remain half-full, then, are emptied. the help will smile        discordant, "hello's" while they pause and linger over lettuce, cheeseburgers, salmon, soup, peas and rice. i wonder if any of the others notice-- they don't seem to care, really. -michael j tino 2007 back