Do You Share

If the fullness of their faces, 

their bellies,

has you considering 

your now empty plate--

shiny with grease, but

devoid of other evidence--

I would implore you 

to reflect 

on why that may be. 

If it isn't jealousy 

warming your temples, 

if it isn't anger 

quickening your heart, 

then whose feelings 

do you share? 

You blame someone else 

for the stain on your front pocket

from the last go around-- 

perhaps the drycleaner,

was negligent with her small, 

fumbling hands?

Perhaps the cook 

at the other establishment 

used too much butter, 

leading to your garment's ruin?

Truly, whose feelings 

do you share,

and to whom are they divided 

and passed around--

broken bread, hard crust 

cracked, with sharp edges--

until nothing is left?