Supper

Dinner. Life.

Laughter, mirth and red rosy cheeks

Exist in the dimly lit kitchen.

From horse-like laughter expelled from

The woman holding a glass of milk

To the uptight robber baron banging

His hands on the poor, old table, a sense of

Life and joy portruded all directions.

 

From the whispers of the giant tea kettle

To the red and blue passions heating it,

Smiles jump, like viruses, from person to person.

 

From the yellow-tinted light that

Gives its victims a hue of hepatitis

To the mass of coins on the floor,

Collectively calculated to be 75 cents

Exactly,

A feeling like no other

Shoots through the concrete windows.

 

From the several ripped pairs of brown shoes to

Green tattered throat collars,

I'd take my seat right beside the baron:

 

Laughing, living and

More importantly

Dying