Everything Tastes Better Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Everything Tastes Better



Eating out at restaurants weakens a soul:
In the light of the same snide pettiness,
Look at the menu,
A delicious assembly line: Look at the tourists
In the atmosphere of those booths.
Even if you aren’t the one who pays for it,
You are becoming theirs:
Words fail you, greater words become unknown
The more you eat.
The savage airplanes are calmed, and the professionals
Line up to shake your hand.
Even sports figures eat at restaurants;
And the sky is so blue overhead for everyone,
But you can’t see the sky full of blind portcullises;
And you can drink and laugh and carry on.
Even the dragonflies grow fat against the windows dripping
On the obese hibiscus,
And your mother farts like to the tune of a high school marching
Band,
And you father is selling used cars right there at the table.
And before you know it all of your old crushes are eating
With you: they are married and yet they seem to
Be available, entrained in a wrecked space,
This country gloom- I don’t know.
I guess I am being really perceptive or just out of line,
But I’d rather drive real fast up to a window and steal my
Lunch of pie:
Eating at restaurants deludes your soul,
But everything tastes better with wine.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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