To the Quaffery chameleon,

who has probably read the menu a billion times,

and watched as our eager eyes traced the options,

only to pick the favourite, the only good choice.

To the Quaffery chameleon,

who watches as we make up whole life stories,

and character profiles for strangers walking by,

and laugh as a hunky, muscular one struts down the street.

his puny owner being dragged along with him.

To the Quaffery chameleon,

who sees my friends’ chatty faces,

laughing with me,

but never mine; just the bag, back, behind,

because of assigned seats, never spoken.

Who watches as the waiter laughs awkwardly,

every time we ask to split the bill.

To the Quaffery chameleon.