Seat At My Table

I can’t stand you but would you sit with me 

A seat at my table 

Now that’s hard to come by because I’m always playing musical chairs with my demons 

But the music never stops 

So we pace around the kitchen in fury until my face seethes red 

And my lungs begin to burn

And my legs begin to ache 

We play until I fall to my knees and can no longer stand 

A seat at the my table 

Now that’s hard to come by even for me 

Though I put out the place mats 

And my grandmothers fine China 

I find myself standing behind the group 

A measly maid to the maidens of my days 

To the preachers of my paranoia 

Do you understand how hard it is to set a table 

While there are people watching you 

Listening in 

I’m sure they are trying to kill me 

So I place the sharp edge of the knife towards the plate 

A sign of surrender 

I didn’t come here to fight 

Not at my own table 

I watch them chew with their mouths a gape 

Like cows 

Heard in by the local farmer down the street 

The butchers son 

He was handsome when I first met him 

But then he sat in my chairs 

Cozy in my seat 

The head of the table 

That spot being saved for a true gentleman 

A man who may help me place down the plates 

When my hands are too shaky 

It’s not easy to be a paranoid host 

I don’t offer up much for I feel I am being fooled 

My guests get to sit at my table and that is all

I was never taught how to cook 

So we must dissect the day 

And swallow it whole 

Though it is not very appetizing 

Nor filling 

But who is to complain when you’re sitting like a king 

In my pathetic palace 

Made of Norwegian stone 

Laced with the finest trimmings 

From France if I’m correct

I’m not very cultured 

And I’m not very hungry 

But I am quite tired 

Too tired to stand 

Everybody it’s time to leave 

My pity party is over 

Get out 

I’ll lock the door behind you 

But not before I sit 

If only

For a moment 

At the head of my table

Author's Note

Written Quickly

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You are a amazing writer. You brought the reader in and you held them to the last words.
"My pity party is over
Get out
I’ll lock the door behind you
But not before I sit
If only
For a moment
At the head of my table"
I liked the lines above a lot. Sometime we must demand our place and lose the heartache. Thank you dear poet for sharing the amazing poetry and your thoughts.
Coyote