Table Manners Poem by RIC BASTASA

i happen to
be in the party of the rich
where each spoon, fork and
knife has a specific
purpose,
the napkin, and the bowl.
you do not have
to howl
the food on the table
delicious as they maybe
and here i am
as hungry as can be,
but there are rules
which keep on
telling,
the way to hold this and
that
the manner to sip
and spit
all eyes on me,
and so
there is no way now
to be just me.

i leave early,
that is not the place
really for me.