Rotary

With one o'clock chimes they come in together,
A gleam of silver comes from the board,
Outside the birds shout in the clear blue weather
And the sun smites red with a sudden sword.

Ranging, returning, they mouth foolish chatter,
Skimming their subjects, illumining none,
Midget minds, filled with the things that don't matter
(Oh, the shout of the birds, the strength of the sun!)

Course follows course to the champ of their eating,
Knives' click and silver's low musical ring,
Lustful small eyes meet the portions in greeting,
Each one is eager to paunch everything.

Heads bent, and fat, greedy fingers that fumble
At coffee and cigarettes; courses are done.
God, give me the clean air while they may mumble
"It's good to lunch in here away from the sun."

—C.Q.P.

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