The Table

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The table, says Sergio, used to be an altar

It was sacramental, where the body and blood was truly shared

It was a confessional where all was forgiven, the Prodigal welcomed

Where you came in need and left fulfilled

Where you met in communion, bitterness laid aside, differences suspended

Where strangers were welcomed

Where to have was celebrated and to have not was left at the door

Where we shared and served each other

Where need came before appetite.

The table was strong, it would last a lifetime, it drew us back.

A romantic view perhaps.

Now, we eat off our knees, alone, silently, before a screen.

◄ Winebar in Worktown

Comments

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Dave Morgan

Fri 20th May 2016 23:22

Thanks Ray and Steve. Completely inspired by a passing comment from a member of Bolton International Writers Project which is a great mix of migrants of all persuasions to Bolton.

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steve pottinger

Fri 20th May 2016 15:00

I thoroughly enjoyed this poem, Dave. Killer last line.

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raypool

Sun 15th May 2016 23:00

Fabulous writing, Dave. Would I be right in feeling that this has a similarity with the viewing of Stonehenge from a discreet distance? I don't know, but the last line brings home a truth that feels like something insipid when compared with the strength and message within.

Ray

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