Cafeteria

In the cafeteria, 

a coterie of new mothers nibble on salads, talk babies, 

breastfeeding versus the bottle, 

how many times each gets up during the night, 

the sicknesses, the vaccinations, 

the words out of their tiny mouths, 

the giggles and the gurgles.

There is no seat at that table for me.

Another gathering is male plus 1, 

in this case, Bertha, the sports enthusiast

who played semi-pro football in her 

twenties, now huddles with the football 

crowd, the Monday morning quarterback 

cartel, where the opinionated go head to head 

with the even more opinionated.

I give them a wide berth.

I avoid the car talk. 

And the male chauvinist 

roundtable. Likewise its female 

equivalent. 

Politics, no thanks. 

Religion, please get a life. 

Not just an afterlife.

So I sit solo in a corner  

with my coffee and a donut  

and the newspaper.

Sadly, I have nothing in common 

with anyone in this place. 

The company I crave 

is the company I’m stuck with.