Life and Death on a Plate
 
and suddenly you’re in a large restaurant,
faced with a menu chosen just for you.
Each mouthful holds its breath in anticipation
but the repetition chews up your excitement.
Your dreams waft from other people’s plates.
On your tongue textures taste nasty or nicer,
becoming nice and nastier. It’s a nice
that moistens and slips away and a nasty
that disappoints like a scratch in the throat.
Your dreams waft from other people’s plates
and alcohol grows drunk on cigarette smoke
although such indulgences can be expensive.
The bill will arrive so there is no need to ask.
 
Those who simply eat, pay and leave
or who insist on paying before they finish
or who are asked to pay while still eating
or who pay a deposit and settle at the end
or who have to pay the entire bill in full
before they even sit down, forced to eat
absolutely disgusting food before leaving –
it’s enough to give anyone indigestion –
they, like you, will all leave behind
a unique stain on the plate of this world.
And those who want to sit and eat forever
should consider what’s on the menu these days.
I’d rather stay at home and eat there.
 
Susan Wilson

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Wilson would be pleased to hear them