Strange Things I Heard at a Restaurant

I was always curious why the word

music,

Had its own motion in sign language.

There is a large cosmopolitan crowd surrounding me,

The middle Ohio upper class

Clogging the essential arteries of an upscale restaurant,

I look from person to person expecting some kind of likeness.

I find nothing, perhaps a familiar lack of patience.

Complaints are being tossed at the hostess

faster then orders for T bone steaks in the kitchen,

I hear that and ignore it,

wanting nothing to do with this culture.

I see a pregnant woman and her mother,

keeping close watch over an obnoxious,

overly curious

four year old, looking disgustedly around,

motioning at the waiting bench I am sitting on.

She sizes me up and determines that I am no worthy

bench mate.

No matter,

As I am seated I hear her saying something to her pregnant daughter,

about some rude people at a table making overt hand gestures at

each other.

I am trying to overhear something useful,

compelling.

As I watch the table beside mine,

A deaf man and three friends,

Their conversation is loud: hands are quickly

Speaking about their day,

Their dinners and surely how nice the weather was.

I wonder how long it took this man’s friends to learn,

the intricate art of sign language,

And I realize there is more beauty in this man’s thumb

Then the dialogue of every other table in the place.

As I watch, fascinated at how intently this quiet conversation

Fills these four friends with smiles,

That we take our language for granted.

They are practicing singing while I self-consciously pick

at a burger.

It is music to my ears