Sunday, 20 November 2016

The Diners

Black bush eyebrows and a gravestone wife
their conversation is like a ballast of coal -
a loaded freight that sinks
all light from the hotel dining room
a boast of conquests
and words that find no purchase
and keep on coming all the same -
the laughing policeman’s push button laugh
in the felt swag bag of their bellies
and there’s always room 
for a little more,
more cheesecake
another bowl of brandy
to swell the rotund belly
although, somehow,
everything sounds hollow,
empty.

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