The staff behind the bar <br />freely exchanging comments <br />in their language you don't understand <br />stare blatantly at you <br />as if you are a travelling zoo - <br />that's their perks; that and the odd <br />pick-up; why else should they work here? <br /> <br />The waiters <br />take the orders, lay the plates <br />with silent scorn, concealed disdain <br />- and, perhaps, a hint of compassion? <br />no, I think not.. how, they seem to wonder, <br />could any foreigner be so ignorant <br />as to eat here? <br />The drained ghosts of vegetables, and <br />would m'sieu like his meat <br />insulted lightly, heavily, or mediumly? <br />They long ago exhausted their pity. <br /> <br />Their compassion is reserved <br />for their fellow nationals - <br />they know that some strong reason <br />obliges them to eat here - perhaps <br />a funeral in the provinces. There's <br />the shadow of an implied shrug <br />as they lay the plates <br />with ancient formality, <br />take the redeeming order <br />for alcohol in which all sins are dissolved, forgiven <br /> <br />they're secret students of humanity; <br />they may discuss you and your strange behaviour <br />when they get home to a leisurely meal, <br />(a fine cut of meat beneath their jacket) : <br />dream of opening a small restaurant <br />somewhere in the provinces; <br /> <br />they'd miss you, though; <br />for anatomists, <br />friends are no substitute for strangers.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0009-railway-restaurant/
