reservations for a dysfunctional family
sit across the table from an old man
who you refer to as grandpa,
though you question the validity of that
endearment.
mirrors sitting next to you,
and at the other side of the table,
talking to one another about
sports teams and in-laws.
the vagueness of this conversation
warms you up like a baby blanket,
because this is familiar.
We share DNA,
except for the replacement grandma;
we share looks that judge
how successful we are.
We share the bill.
And we share that same
unsatisfied smile
as the waiter calls out
cheese…
-NM