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You call me when the food is done
to come sit at the table,
tell me about a guy at work
who brings his own microwave.

Then come tings of forks on plates.
It becomes the room and goes away.
I wait for the moment when you wipe your mouth
and say something to yourself.

"Hi it's me I got your call-"
then you pick up your own plate
put it in the sink
and brush my chair on your way out.

And I always forget to listen
to where you go from there.
Always wondering if you'd hear me
if I asked who you were talking to.