Poem: Sunday Evening Restaurant

[Photo: Detail from wall painting on Commercial Drive...Vancouver].
Today's poem was written years ago.
"I sit in the Sunday evening restaurant...
free at last...but not ready...
for the auditioning to begin...
The head of my walking stick...
stares back at me from the chair
at the other side of the table...
Eating alone
is one of the prices you pay
for claiming your autonomy...
Eating alone...but freedom
to go out...no questions asked...
whenever...or for how ever long
you wish...
with your trusty walking stick...
silent...but understanding...
leaning on the empty chair...
across from you............."
....................Quester.