The Feast by Anthony McKnight
Groaning, shifting on its sturdy piers, sways
a glass-walled restaurant.
Fancy.
A celebration.
On the pier are
expensive shoes. Three pairs of expensive-looking loafers
salt stained and forlorn, in disarray.
Not quite in their own pairs anymore but huddled together.
Can shoes miss their foot?
It was the wave.
The wine is flowing the chatter is growing and the wind is blowing.
White spray now frosts the glass.
Those nearest the window are lucky, an early booking.
The waves are theirs.
Or are they the waves’?
I forget.
They will be first.
Others crane to see.
White wine and fish. A green salad.
Let’s have lobster! That big one,
it won't meet our eye. It knows!
The storm now frowns its dark displeasure, the water deep green in sympathy shows its white caps as it rolls from the yellow horizon.
A nervous laugh as the lights flicker.
How good are storms?
Lunch and a show!
Noon’s sun now dusky. Sickly. Notice how the sky is lead but the sea stays green? Lit by an ugly yellow.
That swaying.
The floor doesn’t really move.
Does it? It's the wine and the waves.
A waiter drops a glass as a woman pushes back her chair.
Napkins are folded as diners eye each other.
Time to leave?
Three men call for the bill. Now please!
Pronto!
Pink shirt blue shirt floral shirt.
Into the storm they’re gone.
Please be seated, we’re safe as houses, enjoy the storm!
A green half wall where the glass was, a shudder as the dining room shifts.
Surely not.
It’s strong.
Where are the men? Did they make the car park?
Yes, I saw them.
They never left. Which three men? The bright shirts. The loud guys.
No, I saw them leave.
Waiter, there’s water on the floor!
That last wave, the green wall. Lucky, we are near the kitchen, and you were mad at me! Book early, you said.
Where is that lobster? It'll be over by the time we finish lunch.
Where is that waiter?
But the wall is building, green brick by green brick. The window is an aquarium, no, the reverse, as the fish are us, we’re on the inside.
Haha!
Oh God. A crack. Cutlery falls, skittering on plates as they rush for the exit. Bags forgotten
coats forgotten.
A lobster waves in triumph from the tank.
But the water is there first, the jetty cut off.
The glass box shrieks and shatters.
The green wall.
The shoes. Three pairs.
More will be found.
The lobster dines.
About the Creator
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