Lunch of Distaste

Unpalatable thought, this lunch of noon.
I will not swallow what I must do:
To sit opposing judgment's tool
Pretending not to be the fool.

What will be said I fear is less
Than cattle stool, and will I test
Up to the image, the right and blessed,
A willing victim for this mess.

The only break is, "food is served."
To hungry mouths I go unobserved.
Gluttony is so absurd,
Taking the stage, my mind disturbed.

The stoic pose is my own choice.
The bread is warm as I cut a slice,
But sharper blades above our poise
Run piercing words with hinting voice.

If I should die before this noon,
The findings in an empty spoon,
I will have left not much too soon
Un-liberated from this cocoon.

The power of that blanket stare,
The balk of mind would in Despair,
Set retaliation forever fair,
But in these times I lack the flair.

Perhaps the choice in not all mine.
Perhaps their words are not unkind.
The signpost states, "do not unwind
The hidden thoughts of deeper mind."

Perhaps I will decide to go,
Perhaps escape the fatal blow.
My judgment sits behind my show
To wish the worst upon my foe.