Noonday Gathering
They have been seated at their
table
in the church’s annex
since a quarter to twelve.
Peter and Frau Fischer
Hansruedi and Luigi,
Herr and Frau Yilmaz.
Rosemarie’s seat is empty,
and Max has not come.
“Hope he doesn’t
cross the great divide,”
Hansruedi says. “Rosemarie
abandoned us three days ago.”
Blond, dreadlocked Peter
sits at the table’s end
and stares at black letters
sprinting on an
upside down newspaper.
Near him, Frau Fisher,
gray hair scooped back
in a French roll,
is nearly seventy.
Dressed in purple,
she is bejeweled
in silver elephants.
Frau Fisher, placed
next to widower, Hansruedi,
follows his knobby fingers
massaging gray stubble.
She frowns at his interpretation
of news he devours in a tabloid
he swears he never buys.
Today he spills his thoughts
on “The Diplomat’s Fall.”
Dessert before dessert.
Luigi, opposite Peter,
never speaks, but
twiddles thumbs and twitches.
His brain, having a tantrum,
signals some demand.
A great love of wine
has spawned a natural rouge
on Vreni Yilmaz’s cheeks.
Yusuf Yilmaz eats a meatless lunch
as they are serving pork today.
He flirts with Vreni,
shuts out the local dialect
he barely understands.
The gathered savor the meal
their five francs buys,
chatter in the comfort of familiarity,
shove away the smell of dingy
bedsits,
and the pain of life’s pummeling.
Peter spoons and slurps
the last of his egg soup,
sneaks wheat bread slices,
sugar cubes and napkins
into big pockets.
Frau Fischer bids farewell
to her dispersing
family of friends.
She will stay behind
to clean and fill the need
to be needed.
© Althea Romeo-Mark 2002, revised
2013.
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