People alone in restaurants pretend they chose it so.
They hold their chins within their hands as if inside they know
a thing that trivial talkers don't, a thing profoundly bright,
as if their neighbors cannot see they are alone that night.
Sometimes they bring a book with them and read it with a frown,
as if to show it grips them so they couldn't put it down
when putting on their coat and scarf and going out to eat
and that they cancelled with the people they had planned to meet.
And some then look up at the clock, annoyed and with a sigh,
as if within their inner thoughts they're asking themselves why
their non-existent table guest is very very late
and then they look around to show their phony irate state.
They quickly gobble down their food, not looking left or right,
for there they might see people who're having a great night
with laughter and with merriment, with chatter and with cheers,
and then they slink off all alone, their sad eyes filled with tears.