Sestina...kind of

The Quarter Scene
(An Attempt at a Sestina)

This restaurant. Tennessee Williams used to eat
Here. See his table in the front window? I gaze
Upon it, keep it in the corner of my eye as I drink
Coca-Cola, decide on jambalaya, chatter
With my family. Tim orders steak. We laugh,
It’s his usual choice, and we know he will cut
Into it with fervor, he will make his incision
Surgeon precise, guaranteeing he will devour
Each morsel with the same effort. A chuckle
From my mom and dad. I try not to stare
At “the table” or feel envy. Should I disrupt the babble
And reveal my thoughts? Or simply sip
My pop? What I really need is a quaff
Of something stronger, something liquid that’ll cleave
Through the fear I feel, allow me to parlay
My predicament. I watch their faces and chew
On my worries, my jaw moving without sound. Tim scrutinizes
His steak, deems it satisfactory. He snickers
The snicker of a boy unaware of his future, a guffaw
That hides his uneasiness. Mom and Dad drain
Their wine and I realize they keep gawking
At the waiter instead of at me, they can’t dissect
My intent from my face, and I ingest
Food now cold with apathy, filling myself with prattle.
I rage within, this noise, it just continues, this empty blather,
No on notices me, I am covered in their cackles
That make my stomach react more than the stuff I consume
All I can think of is some exotic liquored gulp
That will soothe my tongue, but my tongue has been severed,
It flops about uselessly, I can’t talk, I can only gape
At my family in disbelief, then turn my head and peek
At “the table”, a table of genius that supported smart oration,
That would never allow a family to be so dense and to mince
Their interaction into ridiculous posturing. I giggle
Despite myself, aware they laugh too. I guzzle
Their laughter like liquor and find I can dine.

As I finally sup, the nasty gash
Disappears as Tim chortles, orders one more swig
Of Coke, and instead of peering I can chat.