“You never ask about my day”
She admonished.
She was fingering the points
On her fork. For dexterity, I assumed.
Because I reminded you
Of something that happened to you
Earlier today or last week.
Or maybe it is society’s fault.
We look to self-gratification first
Or, rather, we subconsciously try to prove our self-importance.”
But I bit my tongue.
Then I lifted my wine glass to my lips
And finished the last swallow of cabernet
She did the same
And the diatribe continued about how
It could just be that she cared
More about others than herself.
I nodded as if what she said
Was as legitimate a fact as
The sun rising in the east.
She lifted her empty glass, annoyed.
“I need more wine,
What the fuck was our waitresses name again?”
