What the Table Know

People think the table is for selling pastry. The table is for watching. I see the boy who used to teef my drops now bringing his own children to buy them. I see who stop coming, and I know what that mean before the church bell ring it.

I see the ones who leave for foreign come back walking different, talking different — but they still want the bulla they grandmother used to buy. Forty years I sit here. The pastry is the reason they stop. But the stopping — the stopping is the whole point.