It was the middle of winter,
the middle of the night.
We were sitting in a diner together,
engaged in small talk.

I was picking at my meal,
more moving the food around with my fork
than actually eating.

I'd ordered a rather plentiful plate
knowing that the chances of me finishing
were slimmer than the chances of me winning the lottery.

In an attempt to avoid eye contact
with my partner in conversation,
I focused on an older man
who sat alone in a corner booth.

His clothes were ragged,
hair all a mess.
I noticed a large knapsack
on the seat next to him.

He'd devoured every morsel
of his hot ham and cheese,
taking tiny bites
and chewing slowly.

As the server passed him by
carrying a slice of cheesecake to our table,
his eyes lit up and
his dark pupils followed it.

I knew then what I should've done.
I knew that man deserved desert
much more than myself.
I took a bite of my cheesecake
and walked out to my car...

Strange how the story goes sometimes:
Now we sit here, in our reserved corner booth,
and the waiter suggests their famous cheesecake
with a complete sentence for name.
I'll order it as you ask the Valet to bring the car.

I suppose some things never change.

Amanda Lukas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/confessions-over-a-slice-of-rasberry-truffle-cheesecake/