The table on the side by the fridge with desserts, next to the fruit stand, is fought over every day.  

The table on the side by the fridge people tend to forget about is the only one with two chairs.  

The table on the side belongs to many visitors and food.  

The table on the side has a carving by three kids from a few months ago. 

The table only sits two but sometimes there are three –  

                                           perhaps making up the many times it only sits one.  

 

The table is where the workers sit during their break together. 

The table is where two customers eat alone.  

The table is almost never empty.  

The table is where 

the workers  

put their strawberry birthday cake with twenty candles last month, 

sit when they get bored from restocking napkins and forks, 

do their homework because they are also students not always at this job, 

talk about everyone and everything, how 

the customers  

wait for their first meal that day because some are homeless or poor, 

watch Mexican novelas and soccer on the TV above the Coca-Cola fridge, 

eat alone two meals or talk with an invisible someone on their phone, 

sit down when they get there five minutes before its time to close.  

 

The table looks just like all the others in the restaurant- 

uneven and wobbles when you put down food,  

like it might be unusable for people very soon. 

 

The table looks like the perfect place where a small Christmas tree belongs.