The Middle Class, Out to Eat

I've been having a really hard time lately trying to write poetry. Life has been pretty calm so nothing has caught my attention enough to write about yet. So here is an old poem while I ponder some new stuff.

The Middle Class, Out to Eat
Your face is the saddest face I've seen.
I didn't think I would know it when I saw it,
but there you were, a booth away,
sipping your third margarita or something,
and my mind's eye said in its outdoor voice:
THAT IS THE SADDEST PERSON IN THE WORLD.
You haven't left to go to the bathroom
the whole two hours, so I can't smile
or open the bathroom door for you,
so I am sending you ESP beams from my table,
"be happy, be happy, please be happy."
Maybe your kids should smile at you.
Maybe your husband should
put his arm around you, pulling you closer.
For all I know you're fine, it's just that
your face looks that way because
you're looking at me, your face as a mirror,
thinking, "that is the saddest person in the world."