The drinks were cold,
melting into rotten brown tables
with cracks identifying rich history.
Making a new finish,
surfacing the wood with hickory hearts
and stained smiles.
Forks turn toward one another,
puncturing the surface only to create
a mark never to be forgotten.
Conversations leaning, chairs moving,
eyes drifting toward the unknown.
The room fades as prongs gently touch.
The strength of metal draws like species
together, however guilt forces them away.
What a shame that similar utensils cannottango at dinner time.