thai food on tuesday night

alone at the table
with watch
and phone laid
out, a set of keys,
the morning paper,
it's tuesday,
and you're ordering
thai food at
eight p.m., a
cold beer, you have
a window seat on
mt. vernon avenue.
no one is out and
about. a cool breeze
blows in when
the door opens
and the bells rings.
you feel like
something spicy,
maybe shrimp, chicken.
rice. carrots and
basil. another
beer. you flip
through the phone.
seeing what
gives, what's
new. what's gone.
you can't read
the paper in here,
it's too dark
and shadowy.
across the room a
woman is pointing
at her husband,
she yells
at his grey face
in a whisper. her
blue eyes sparkle
horribly, he
can't even look
up. the only
words you hear are
this is the last time,
harold, or else
i'm leaving you for
good. you suddenly
feel much better
about your life.
you order that sweet
gummy rice dessert
and coffee.