Panera

Panera

She tilts her head, 
and her smile lights the room. 
She talks with her hands,
giggles, touches her face. 
She is 75.
She is 17. 

He lingers at the
booth where she sits,
his fingers drumming the beat
of a song inside him.
She makes him
want to dance. 

She leans in. He stands
taller than I remembered.
He is every day of 80, 
every bit of 18. 

I used to see him here on Wednesdays,
five years ago, when he
was an older man, 
the woman on his arm
a fading memory
he gently tended.

I never paused to wonder
if he was fading, too—
forgetting some rhythm,
some dance move
all his own

until I saw him here today
and found
my foot tapping
with vicarious
delight. 

Photo by American Jael on Unsplash

The Prompt

I wrote this poem in April, while sitting in Panera and waiting on an oil change. Usually the poems I offer here are brand spanking new, but I haven’t written any complete poems (just fragments) since Wednesday, so I pulled this from my notebook to share.

The delight I felt watching what seemed to be a happy flirtation between an older man and woman still feels real and alive to me. Admittedly, right after I wrote this poem (I scribbled it out while witnessing the interaction), events took an unexpected turn. The happy gentleman with the song in his heart returned to his own table, and lo and behold another man arrived on the scene. He brought food for two to the booth where the woman sat. I got a husband vibe. When he sat down, though, the entire demeanor of the woman at the table changed. She ceased to be 17 and suddenly became 75 or more, smile gone, face creased with what looked like extreme irritation. I was there for awhile, and her bright energy never returned. I could feel the tension at their table. It was both fascinating and sad to witness such a complete shift in her energy.

My oh my, what a lot of interesting things you can witness, just sitting around in a Panera! If you’d like a prompt to play with today, then I invite you to pick a restaurant, any restaurant. This could be a restaurant that your family frequented during your childhood, the restaurant you went to before senior prom or right after college graduation, the diner where you picked up your worst-ever case of food poisoning, your current favorite restaurant, or the McDonalds up the road.

Once you’ve picked a restaurant, go there—either literally or in your memory. In either case, take some time to ground yourself in the place and its energy. Notice the sights, sounds, smells. Is there music? Chatter? The clanging of dishes? What’s the decor like? Is there a particular place in the room you like to sit?

What do you eat in this restaurant, and why do you choose that particular food? Who else is present? Without being creepy (unless you’re doing this strictly in your imagination, in which case, creep on) what do you notice about the interactions or emotions of the people around you? Do you find yourself pulled toward a particular person or table of people? If so, let yourself imagine what story it is they find themselves in today. Take it a step further/weirder, if you’d like, and imagine what story some benevolent stranger in the restaurant might be writing about you.

From the swirl of all these noticings and imaginings, pull out the thread that intrigues or delights or challenges you most. Let that thread guide your poem into being. I look forward to reading whatever you share, friends. Your comments are delicious—far more so than anything Panera serves up!