walking around the ruins, with poor mr. davis
thinking that we might find something to salvage
knowing that the hunger of the fire did not spare
anything at all, anything at all except
his diningroom table, his diningroom table, his diningroom table.

gravity pulls us down, looking around with mr. davis
i try not to look devastated, though it would be an understatement
quietly he kneels, his body begins shaking
crying like a child, crying like a child, he cries
"my diningroom table, my diningroom table, my diningroom table!"

and then, when i expected him to break
he looks at me with eyes wide away
and confidently whispers, "it's okay."

walking around the ruins, with poor mr. davis
carrying the table from the mess, and stepping away
his face newly painted with ideas and resilience
he says, "i can buy new chairs! i can buy new chairs for
my diningroom table, my diningroom table, my diningroom table."

© 2008 - Lynn O'Brien