A Watched Pen Never Writes

 

The Watchers

The comfort of the warm light dimmed as thin clouds crossed the sun's face.

I was being watched

I glanced at the watcher and he came over and filled my cup.

A light breeze ruffled the napkins, set one free and a waiter gave chase.

I was being watched

I glanced at the watcher and saw him drool. When he saw my glance he shifted on his hind legs and stared harder and with more hope.

There was a honk, a curse and a whiff of diesel oil as the bike swerved and kept pace.

I was being watched

I glanced at the watcher. He tried to catch my eye and smiled an introduction. I looked away

On the end of my tongue I put the tip, and the flavors of chocolate and strawberry exploded in ecstasy.

I was being watched.

I glanced at watcher and looked past his ragged beard and shuffling feet, making the long trek from nowhere to nothing, and who with eyes dimmed, gazed with longing at my waste.

I was being watched

---By Carla Blaschka 12/3/11
   Written alongside PurpleMark Wirth, Philip Bernier-Smith, and Priya Keefe at the
   Capitol Hill branch of the Seattle Public Library.

 

Theme: Being watched, eating food