The Monk

SLAM2004

The Monk

We ate at a restaurant,
one called The Monk,
with a fenced in
Man of the Cloth.
His back was to us.
He never moved;
Like he'd taken
a vow of silence.

My brother and I,
just the two of us,
had met to chat and eat.
The place was good.
My friends said so,
“Try the veggie plate,”
they’d told us.

The waitress came
and asked about drinks.
“Do you have water?”
my brother asked.
She blinked and said,
“Yes, of course, we do.
Bottled -- fresh or sparkling?”

“Fresh isn’t bottled,”
my brother told her.
She left still shaking her head.


Then my brother picked up
his utensils and searched:
His spoon had a speck,
the napkin was frayed,
the water glass had a nick.
The waitress got a look in her eye.
I was afraid we’d be kicked out.

But our dinners came,
enchiladas and cheese,
with black beans on the side.
I dug in and ate delightedly.
My brother merely frowned.

“What’s inside these beans?”
he asked the harried woman.
“Check and see if there's any lard.”

The woman came back,
a nod on her face.
My brother let out a storm.
The chandeliers shook.
The diners all quaked.
When my brother yelled out,
“How dare you call
This thing a vegetarian!”

We left soon after.
No one offered dessert.
And I think it's quite likely
that everyone cheered.

My brother still fussed,
and told me he'd sue.

And later, when the night waned,
I thought he was finally calm,
he looked at me,
then laughed and said,
“Don’t listen to friends
who haven’t a clue
how to cook a gourmet meal.
I can prepare a better feast
with none of that animal lard."

I nodded my head;
he could cook a storm.
Far safer to eat at his house.

But my brother still growled,
Rumbled scattered clouds.
Just when I thought
the skies turned blue,
he rained another sprinkle.

"Well, it's obvious," said he,
with his noise in the air.

I looked up from my book.
"What is it, that's so obvious?

"Well, didn't you notice,
When we dined at that place --
That monk of theirs was fake."


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