By 3:23 the light begins to fade
And that’s when I take late lunch.
I go to the food court
And find the stations with the least crowds
Where the food must be bad
Or out of fashion
Or maybe the price is $2 more
Than at the other stations.

I take a seat, a counter seat,
And read the sign board
Not knowing what anything means.
It is like in Petersburg trying to
Order Olivia Salad and learning it is as Greek as Greek Salad
Or Caesar
Names that must be learned. Hot Dog.

I don’t want to eat but am hungry.
The crowd, thin that it is, is young
Handsome and pretty, chic and cool.
I don’t fit in the place
I’m like a chaperone at the
Junior High Dance.

When I pick my meal to order
It is sold out.
“Would you like Mel Dubin Salad?” I’m asked.
Would you?

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