Eyes, Expectant Eyes

All tables for four;
expectant eyes on me;
Am I waiting for other guests?
Surely?
Or will the server keep their eyes on me,
In a table, for,
one?

Or, to hide my alone-maly,
will I be carried,
to uncomfortable stools of the waiting bar,
meeting eyes with strangers drunk next to me,
as the master behind the bar shakes mixers,
expecting my applause?
And then, will my neck sense
the eyes of employees,
expectant,
behind me,
as I
fumble
with money bills after my uneasy drink?

Alas, I'm rescued by a cafe with books.
I’m sipping bubble-tea, easing into nooks
resting by the window parapet,
softly into cushioned corners,
watching other eyes laughing, fighting, rolling, loving,
in tables for four
but thankfully
no eyes
on
me.