“Under the Table”

Things became easier
after my Muse’s departure.
The man who is sitting alone
in the restaurant

is just a man sitting alone
in the restaurant.
The cars passing by the street at night
are just cars passing by the street at night.

And the couple in the next table,
their voices barely audible,
their shoulders pressed together,
their feet brushing against each other

under the table
is just a couple whose voices are barely audible,
their shoulders pressed together,
their feet brushing against each other

under the table.
There is nothing to analyze here.
There are no images to juxtapose and compare
and therefore no poem that I will be compelled to write.