Chasm

You sit across the table
Not looking at my hand
Which rests upon formica
Revealing upturned palm

Sweated glass of water
Drip-stained coffee cups
Congealed fat drops on a dish
Witness us discuss our love

Your words amid the clatter
Of cheap silverware and plates
Fall in with that background
In an undistinguished way

I see you catch the server’s eye
A check in tray arrives
You reach into a pocket
Your lips form in a smile

You answer your own question
Deciding how I am
We rise and leave the restaurant
You never touch my hand.