Same Script, Different Food

We sit together across a table
Me and you. And you. And you
The atmosphere is stuffy with all the pleasant formalities
Of people who enjoy each other’s company
And have spent time planning and cooking
So as to spend a little quality time together

Over a first course of tomato and mozzarella salad
We dip into a little light conversation
Who you’ve seen and how awful they look
We enquire about characters from previous dinner parties
Are they still pathetic?
We express shock that apparently intelligent people can be so misguided
And laugh out loud at the misfortunes of many
Who knew disability could be so funny?

A more meaty conversation accompanies the mains
As always, it’s religion or culture
A few half histories and plenty of misinformation later,
You joke about sacrificing animals in my church
And tell me the Bhurka started out as a fashion statement
Oh what bad teeth the English have
As usual I just smile and nod
And mmmhh and ahhh over our ‘wonderful meal’

Today, by desert, I realise with a burst of pride that I have made it almost to the finish
Without ever once joining in your fundamentally flawed debates
Or lying through my teeth about how good the food is
I giggle (unfortunately at the wrong point in the conversation) when I think to myself, that if someone enforced the saying, ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all’
I would be surrounded by absolute, complete, blissful silence

Oh well, I look forward to next time
It’ll only be the same old script, hopefully just with better desert