when people are being blown up on the other side of the world,
when a friend is having a wake for his mother in another state,
when it is so oppressively sticky and hot outside,
it is comforting to have a few basic tasks—
pour beers from the taps into glasses,
take orders,
set steaming food down in front of guests,
refill cups with water—
to repeat over and over through the overcast afternoon.
It feels like Grace to make a joke and chuckle
as I ask a stranger can I bring you anything else?
What do you need?
In the paper today there was a picture of
two men holding each other
in front of a building blown to ruins.
The looks on their faces,
I can’t explain.
Just destroyed.
People are fleeing fast out of Gaza.
They were told that any movement seen after noon
would be shot at.
After they leave, there’s crumpled
napkins, ketchup-smeared plates,
dried beer clinging to the glasses.
I stack it all neatly and take it all in
one trip if I can,
to leave the table
bare and open
to the next hungry thirsty people.
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