“Steak night” at “the Cuckoo Lounge”,
pajama clad refugees,
dance their food in slow motion
across their plates,
cut their porterhouses with a butter knife.
Heat blowing full-bore through the vents above their heads,
licks at their hair,
makes them almost look “alive”.
The wisps create the illusion of being outside,
under the clouded skies.
There’s a full moon behind those clouds,
big and bright,
they just can’t see it.