by Dan Allison

When (It) is able to table (It)s way into our dining room
unperceived,
our plates, forks and knives grow
uncomfortable.

The spoons loom on our tongues,
the table is tabled,
our eyes are hands,
and our hands are handed
to the chandeliering scent of our meal,
consumed but not yet digested.

Digested only when (It) tables
somewhere else,
and everyone
is chaired thusly.

My family eats only what it cooks
and sees only what it understands.
That is how (It) tables in
unperceived.

When I dine with them,
I am my hands
and my eyes can eye as they will.
I pay no mind to what I see.
I look instead with my tongue
and hand dishes to their proper places,
as I have been taught.

Supposedly below us,
the dog sits patiently.
But she does not scrap herself
as we so readily assume.
The dog knows the scent
better than we know the sight.
That is how she sees from above
with chandelier eyes,
and hears the tones we cannot.

We can hear no music,
so we stomach out of sync with our teeth.
The rhythm of our chewing
has no beat.
(It) tables in,
dancing to nothing.
We dine with no feeling in our feet.

The distinction between left and right
has no meaning
when seen from the eye of a spoon.
Because of this, our intentions imitate
what we’ve lost,
like an electric candle, but perhaps
can be rekindled (or bulbed).

In this way,
(It) tables differently
than before,
and (It) not only tables
but is tabled.
Perhaps (It) does not have to table in
unperceived
after all.