The Dinner

the sound of the fork striking
the plate seemed too loud
nobody moves, and the waiter
serves the roasted chicken
we are still waiting for your steak
the chicken is dissected, yet
some of the hard parts refused
to give way, you stir your ice tea
i hear the sound of ice cracking
the aroma of someone else's
stew drifts over, you turn over
to look, but it is only a sandwich
they brought out, cut into pieces
the chef probably broke an egg
to have it made, you turn back
only to find half the chicken gone
there is probably some garnish left
some bones, some skin, some memories
and we are still waiting for your steak