Old Man at Chang's

Old Man at Chang’s

In the corner,

a solitary figure,

companionship bound in pages.

A hot and sour bite, a chilled glass frost,

where Saramago whispers terror and wonder

into willing ears.

Afternoon light dances, a soft italic touch,

on porcelain and linens,

a spotlight on the understated elegance

of a waitress's smile.

She approaches,

bearing simple gifts

of rice and spiced beef,

to the old man savoring solitude

at my favorite table.