by Travis Klempan
I sat across the table from a man today.
He looked at me, I looked at him,
And could not tell which of us would stay.
I did not know if the food I ate would to ashes turn,
Or if my fellow, across the way, would in hatred’s fire burn.
Would it be me, the chosen one, to go before the rest?
Or why not he, the other one, lungs heaving, holes in chest …
Best not to ask, or think too long, if only due to thinking’s curse:
It’s not for us to know, only to guess, and guessing’s all the worse.