The Denny's, which has since been torn down
And turned into a car wash,
Had florescent light
That managed to be too harsh
Yet too dim at once.
The four of us sat in a booth:
Mom, Dad, brother, sister.
And in the booth next to ours,
A couple, facing in our direction.
They sat on the same side of the table,
Side by side, as couples sometimes do,
But never looking up or at each other,
Each had a laptop open wide,
Casting an intense gray light,
Under-lighting their faces
In horror-movie shadow
As they sat, their unblinking eyes
Moving across their screens
In sync with their hands,
Each manipulating a mouse that manipulated
The images on the screens that manipulated
Their eyes.
Their non-mouse hands
Reached in slow-motion to grab
A fry or a cheese stick or an onion ring
And raise it to their silent gray mouths.
Our booth chattered and laughed in defiance,
Perhaps to form a shield around us,
Protecting us from the zombie virus next-door.
They never spoke. They moved like automatons.
Mouse. Hand. Screen. Eyes. Food.
As we left, I wonder if we had stayed long enough,
We might see them get sucked in to those open screens,
Which would snap closed,
Singularity achieved.
