g. emil reutter



Monday Night

Encased in Wissahickon Stone walls
heavy pine tables are circled by
padded chairs.  A couple sits
across the room, she’s not too happy
as he orders take out for his wife.
Through the divide a mahogany bar
ornate mirrored back with chalk boards
listing today’s brews. Bartender serves
the three or four sitting there together
yet alone, he of black circled eyes, two
days growth of beard an echo of a
weekend better spent. A third couple
sits to our rear in silence as the waitress
appears to gambol from table to table
as the dining area fills, faces blurring
into one.  Our meal arrives as you tell
me of your day, I listen as you trim
the fat from your pot roast and I split
the yoke atop my meatloaf, listen to
the crunch of our spaetzel.



g. emil reutter lives and writes in the Fox Chase neighborhood of Philadelphia, Pa. (USA). You can find him at www.gemilreutter-author.com. 



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