the table

the table
that wobbles,
one leg slightly
shorter than
the other,
undermines everything.
no matter how
good the food
tastes, or
the company is,
or how well
the conversation
flows, it's
the table that
keeps tilting
that steals
the show.
and the waiter
with his match
book cover
sliding it awkwardly
under knows
about the table,
but doesn't seem
to care
that much, it's
not his day
job, not his
worry, this one
short leg, this
wobbly table
where the drinks
slide side to side.