Chatter, pratter, endlessly on and on.
The guys so desperate to impress,
with their gruff voices and don’t
care attitudes. So quick to slam a
Half & Half to illicit a giggle or two.
The girls so quick to laugh, so quick to
lay a hand on.
Leaning intently over the table, looking,
waiting to leap in with something
witty, disgusting, and semi-hilarious,
so that someone, anyone will respond.
Of teenage promises and pinky swears,
and much swearing to god.
They come in waves, eager to pray
to their commercial gods of Nike,
Tommy, and Abercrombie & Fitch.
Is this there existence? Is this what
they are reduced to doing?
Or has this become my existance?
Sitting in my empty booth, watching;
cynical and sarcastic.
So quick to write them off.
I see them as outcasts from my
social strata. But I know that
they see me as the same outcast
from them.
All I can do is shake my head at them,
and myself.