In my customary weekend state, I gate-crash a boring table,
to share some written wisdom, that makes me look more stable,
they become attentive, but, just for a little while,
as their collective thought, says to me, should we smile?
Thus, when I am reading, I see them passing the salad bowl,
I hope there’s no hemlock in there, I’ll try to make it droll,
The kids listen in, to my truth, not to some corruption,
but the mundane way of thinking, says that it’s destruction,
so, the table gives me some applause, like I am some clown,
then, both they and I, make a move, to another place in town.