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.