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Prayer at the Table

David Francis

The girl with beautiful eyes
eats her breakfast guiltily.
(They sat at the table.)
The father looks this way
disapprovingly: maybe they don’t talk
because they’re waiting for their
food. Teen-ager, self-conscious,
now eats in front of them.
They don’t talk, and she
doesn’t talk with her mouth full.
Or maybe they’re just mad.
Their lunches come and they say
a prayer. That is all they say.
Such unhappiness tries
to oppress everyone.
She looks more like the father.
Looks don’t mean anything,
only ideologies. With those eyes
there is still hope for her.
Before I know it, they’re gone,
getting in the car between her parents
in her granny dress.
The world lightens up,
but something darkens, inside here,
this booth of words.

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