We eat the meal in silence.
Each tongue lapping in the language
of their clan. No one
can hear the cacophony.
We only hear the silence stolen
by other smacking lips,
disrupted by the rustle of
other linen napkins.
Our mouths widen
as do our eyes in amusement
at their uncouth clay pots
and wooden utensils.
So greedy the glare
of their crystal glasses,
pathetic their array of
colorful plastic plates.
Suddenly
the immense table
doesn’t seem large enough.
Some have managed
to horde the spices at their end,
sequester all the small wooden stools,
pile the satin pillows high behind them.
In anger all attempt to consume
more than their share
ignoring
the obvious abundance.