Broken | Steve Denehan

Murmured conversation and cutlery scraping.
Into the restaurant he came,
As out of place as anyone has ever been.
He was older, enormous, bedraggled.
His shoulders were wide, straining against a greasy brown coat.
His hair, matted, above a weathered face.
Stopping, he seemed surprised to have arrived in the restaurant.
He turned to face our table and we caught eyes.
Words, of a sort, fell from his mouth and landed on the floor.
He was escorted out and the silence was filled once again,
With murmurs and scraping.