a soup du jour

I was eating my soup du jour
for lunch in the old diner in the corner
and saw them from the window.

they were en route for the food and pleasures
the indifferent look in their eyes
embraced me like a freezing tide.

a stereotype material

I followed them, till they were dissolved
in the vanity of a busy avenue.

afterwards I looked down at my soup
and saw my reflection on its surface.
it was yellowish-greenish like a soup.

I loathed myself for craving for their bodies
rather for their psyche.

a cliche.


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