Lunch

This is more than the wringing
Of hands
There is napkin shredding
And fork shuffling
And compulsive drinking
Of ice
Water
With lemon

Sitting with semi strangers
Men mostly
And I
Pretend to be
Who I am
On the phone

Conversation is mostly about them
Tell me this
That
About you
This is how conversation works
In this tiny little world of theirs

I dread
The reversal
When they ask about me

Don’t

My demeanor must scream it
The tense bones
And sweat

I am not theirs
To know.