There is something blessedly comforting In the check that comes at the end of a meal. True, it is one you must pay; its inevitability Absolute. Yet even so, With all its monetary requirements, There it still sits. Never a flutter of anger, Never a cloud of concealed hate. The bill has no soul, much like that which satisfies it. The check never changes- it rarely surprises. Rather, it waits, Peacefully dozing, Until settled and one leaves. Yes, there is a comfort In that which never changes, Even if it costs.