ambiance lighting

all of us were there--
in one of those booth seats--
the ones shaped like a C so 
the people in the middle can't get out.
you're unfamiliar to me-- 
the bodies on either side gone blank--
menus up to cover their faces.
i ask what family we are today 
& no one answers but the waiter 
who seems to be made of gnats. 
ambiance lighting & the amber glow
of wall sconces-- i ask you
all if it's getting darker-- 
no response just the turning of
pages. we went out for my birthday
a few days ago & everyone ate cheesecake--
dug into the slices with their fingernails.
are there forks & knives? is this
a spoon or a wrist bone? the restaurant
growing darker just as the plates
hit the table & i feel around to try 
to find me salad. no one remembered
a flashlight. we should be more
prepared whoever we are. they're
collecting our menus-- did i order
the steak with dad this time? 
careful the dishes are warm.
reaching out i put my hand into
a plate of shrimp scampi-- the sealife
wriggling away & out the back door
to have a smoke on the curb. 
i never remember what i ordered?
a salad? yes a salad to be safe--
with the dressing on the side like
a cruet of holy oil. sign of the cross.
no one says grace. honey mustard grace.
how are we supposed to read the calories
in the dark. i like the texture
of your buttered zucchini so you
shove the bowl to me. i steal the 
pickles from everyone's plates &
the red onion halos assume their place
above me head-- if only they would
give us some illumination. 
it's best to eat in the dark
though, you know? feet touching
beneath the table-- ankle to ankle
brush thigh. i wonder then, if it's
all me-- all come to celebrate out
to dinner. one of us would have had
a flashlight. the menus made of stone
are hard to remove. i didn't order
cheesecake but i wanted it. i said
last year said this said last year
that i want to one day be better
enough to eat cheesecake on 
my birthday. in the morning 
the mattress is soft & topped
with strawberries; a handful.
the forks were cactus mouthed. 
i stumbled onto the surface of your
bacon cheese burger again-- the cheese
up to my ankles-- the burger
dripping sweat like hot july rain.
even the exit signs gave up on
being red. how will we get out then?
the rest eating, eating-- clink 
of knife & teeth to table. everything
in here is edible in theory. even me.
it's not cannibalism if it's dark.
besides, i'm a cold slice of cheesecake.
maybe a chicken taco. maybe smoking
on the curb with the scampi-ed shrimp.
the cars pass beneath the table.
i remember the lighter in my pocket
that i keep in case we need to burn sage.
the plates are just warm tar. 
there's no one else at the table. 
after hours-- the waiter; a folded napkin.
i put her in my lap & wait.