I sat down to drink the wine
and hungry fingers reached for a baguette
but he stopped my hand and claimed “It’s mine.”
Jesus Christ man! Whatever—fine.
I don’t know why this guy is so upset.
I sat down to drink the wine.
What right has he to stop us when we dine?
I worked hard; I paid with my own sweat,
so I filled my plate to claim what’s mine.
A thousand pointed thoughts malign
our ungracious host and his table set.
I sat down to drink the wine.
Reaching for my plate he says, “Here are ten, keep nine.”
And my forgetful face flushes with regret.
He shouts over all created things the claim, “It’s mine!”
My faults compound, I cannot bend the line
and, drop by drop, my cup is filled with debt.
Defeated, I sat down to drink the wine
but he stops my hand and claims “it’s mine.”
