As you sit at my table

You eat with one hand

And saw off the table leg with the other

Trying to be a good host,

I ignore this.

You keep sawing

You finish your food

And leave, taking the plates

And the knives and the forks with you

I’m left, sitting in a silent room

Filled with empty drawers and empty cupboards

And an empty fridge

You call the next day

And ask to come and eat

With me again