All you can eat

All the pieces have been rationed out
and crumbs sustain me.

I remain seated after all are done,
awaiting my excuse.

The lights have long dimmed
and all voices echo over themselves.

A faint trace of repast and laundry
hangs atop the resting air.

The candle flame belly dances lasciviously
low and full.

In jest, the world smelt a silver platter,
lining up and leaving a generous tip.

I count cents,
I keep my change
ingesting the feastful rest.

Painting by Monogrammist Hb. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.