Lunch with Yoda









The ambience of the dining establishment

Left much to be desired.


Walls of cream and pastel green punctuated with

Primaries did not whet the appetite.


A selection of cheery, primitive art attempted to

Counteract the cheerless interior.


The lighting flattered neither

Food nor guest.


Classical music poured out of tin speakers,

Adding salt to wounded composers.


The maitre’d was surly, sour and

Bitter in her greetings.


She slow marched each party to their table

With enforced silence.


And although we were seated in a reserved section,

The other diners were a bit intrusive.


The meal itself reminded me why

I usually make my own.


The rice-undercooked and bland.

The vegetables-overcooked and bland.


The beef I’d ordered had a strange relationship

With a certain Dr. Salisbury.



The unnecessary death of a good peach.


I closed my eyes to offer a prayer

For this dining misfortune.


Grace found my companion and

The smile on his face before he left for recess.

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