Eat In

a booth in the restaurant,
after

his father's place

the time

whooshing past plastic
shopping carts at the Wal-Mart

fried fish, before that on a
Sunday
with mother, alive
well, and happy

poor Don, his brother,
retarded from birth
knowing only his own fantasies
locked in a world without
love
his loud father hard-of-hearing
telling him to stop laughing,
maybe years ago
but now stern and cautious with him

I, scared as a jaybird
in front of the two siblings

sculpted ceramic animals
turtle, squirrel, dog, cat
awry
on his father's coffeetable

I could almost hear nothing but
MSNBC crying echoes of the
Twin Towers
a ghost let loose in its
midst, on such a Black Saturday
as this

I look at my check
peering down at the words
EAT IN at the restaurant
shoulders up against his
as he rubs his hand over my arm

friends across the table
mixing the table sat
with chit-chat

the slip said 6:27 PM and
the waitress's name

what a timely moment to
Bless America
eating Peach Pie a la mode
safe inside the Walls
of just another hometown
busy place to dine

I died a bit
our lives laid out within
the ranks of millions of people
looking out the windows
to say a prayer
with the evening's compass
the story of such
tragic proportions asking

sympathy for Satan

I will sweat it out,
to find the answers