Irregular

by Larry Schug

Not noticing how the waitresses look at each other,

roll their eyes as I seat myself,

on an empty chair at an empty table,

not knowing I’ve innocently sat

at the“Regular’s table” in the local café,

just before the first “Regular”

reaches for his usual chair,

sits down beside me, doesn’t say a word,

as if I’m just a misplaced salt shaker,

when the second “Regular” sits down,

then the third, the fourth, the fifth.

They all begin talking at the same time,

no one says a word to me, gives me a glance,

and I finally get the hint, get up, head to the counter,

wondering on which stool I should sit

as I watch as the “Regular’s table” fills up,

all but the chair where I sat.

A waitress coyly smiles at me, asks if I’d like coffee,

I say, no thanks, I’d rather have a cup of tea.