Service for One

I ordered the wings because they come out fast

and I didn't want to linger at the wood.

I watched the condensation as it passed

through the napkin, doing what it should,

which is soaking the paper until it turns clear,

a dark, spreading circle on the laminate top.

I’m a regular ghost in the atmosphere,

waiting for the noisy world to stop.

The bartender asks if I’m doing alright

and I nod while I chew on a piece of the bone.

It’s a specific, heavy kind of light

that finds a person sitting alone.