9 poems dugger - Trish Dugger

Otherwise
Seems like a long time since
the waiter took my order,
disappeared behind a swinging door.
I rearrange silverware, move a fake
carnation in a dingy glass vase
to the neighboring vacant table,
take out my paperback. A few other
solitary diners, moored to separate
small islands, lift forks and eat in
a sea of silence. I dog-ear my page
as the waiter reappears with
soup du jour. Friday. Clam chowder.
Once it was otherwise. Fridays.
Me and Dino at Bully’s cruising for
seats at the low bar, shouting out
our orders over laughter and chatter.
Doubles. On the rocks. Extra olives.
I knew someday it would be
otherwise. When his ship sailed
or, as it happened, sank.
And a deep longing for gin soaked
olives sinks its teeth in me.