Penchant for Silence

by Mathew Richard Carter

Awakened
by a sun
burst
through
the window’s
venetian eyes,
the hazy luster
of an early
morning’s light
too present to eschew.
I am wrenching and rising
the sum of these tired bones
to attempt to reach and stretch,

resting my seat
upon the chill
of iron chairs,
painted white
for
that elegant appeal.. blah blah
I am always alone at the tableside –
not filled,
not fabled
with stories of our time;
plain fare was well liked.

I’d have lingered thoughts
of quondam days,
before the phlegm
and relentless
ruckus,
increasingly
unable to ignore
every day of
each morning.

Re-flexing my palette
to enjoy
the simple fare,
I reach for the spoon,
held in glare
by the glazing
of the sun.

I’ve declared
a cease-fire
upon the burnings
of my appetite,
cringing for lungs –
stressed, hunched
over kitchen sinks.