They sit in silence,
no conversation,
buttering bread rolls.
No visible enjoyment,
just methodical chewing.

I assess my wine –
an unknown red,
in solitude.
I sip with caution,
happy to approve
a gentle Gamay.

Two ladies to my left
eat daintily, and talk,
both at once – no listening.
Each mouthful heaped
upon forks with care.
A spill would not be ladylike.
They wear impeccable hats.
Gloves, handbags neatly placed
upon the empty chairs,
beside long-stemmed umbrellas.

The others lean back
as high-heaped plates appear.
Eating broken only
by a call for mustard.
Is this a family in despair?
Neighbours in dispute?
Casual acquaintances?
They consume with vigour,
converse with stealth.

While I – who would love to talk

sit silent. Eventually
I pay my bill
and wander to the door.
The ladies have already left.
The others – still incommunicado –
drink coffee with deliberation.
One has made a butterfly
from the silver wrapper
of his chocolate.