Thanksgiving Lunchtime

Written over lunch at work, on a particularly slow holiday.

Seagulls circle like vultures over the parking lot
I have a pizza crust they know nothing about
that I am unwilling to share

She is curled in a ball in my lap in her mind
I don’t mind her pleading for contact
Proximity will have to suffice

I recall a time when all these seats were full to overflowing
standing room only, throttle full open
These days you could spend a day and never see another living soul

I was proud to be here on a holiday once
then disenchanted, now
It doesn’t even register

I will leave a voicemail this evening
Meticulous details of mundane disappointments
Managers circle like vultures over my head.