They left chunks of my soul on their plates,
using cloth napkins to wipe their filthy mouths.

They made sure to leave me some of my pride
and some dignity as well, but not quite enough.

They rinsed the glass plates in the sink, which
was the least they could do after their feast.

They put on their shoes and grabbed their
bags, not even saying ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’.

I ponder the moment when I realized that my
soul would never be the same, I couldn’t change it.

They didn’t even have the decency to put my soul back
and so I lifted it off the platter and put it right.