the Table61 blog



by on Jun.11, 2010, under Random

The story’s always the same no matter where we meet,

On winter’s chilly nights or days plagued by summer’s heat.

Whether Wednesdays, holidays, or Sunday afternoons,

Early mornings or late nights on walks underneath the moon.

I come to you when I find myself in need of service fast,

But after this experience this time may just be the last.

I’m not much for small talk, my responses all are quick.

In fact most are lies or a psychological trick.

You ask me how I’m doing and I always respond ‘Well’

Even if I’ve had a day come from hell.

I may tell you a story explaining why my voice is hoarse,

Explaining I’ve been yelling at the hearing for my divorce.

I steer the conversation to the reason that I came.

I try to remove myself from this conversational game.

I tell you what I want and you tell me what’s the price

And if our conversation stopped there, it sure would be nice.

But for some unknown reason I’ll never understand why

You always try to sell me a goddamned apple pie.

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