Draft

[Delta40]

Now that my gaze has slipped
past your brown eyes
where I once spied an innocent child
and searched the house
in which he lived.

Now that I wait for meals to arrive
on cracked laminex tables
sometime in July when winter calls
and I'm not interested in
cheap, cold service.

Now that I see beyond your chatter,
the jug of water and bread rolls
I ponder the meaning of a picture
framed above your head.

Is this why you never call?