I.

I read the menu like the morning paper,

looking for something familiar

and interesting and possibly tasty

that I can chew on for awhile and

walk away from satisfied.

 

Two eggs, toast, fresh fruit and someone

got shot last night in a parking

lot I’ve never been to.

I’m not having it.

 

French toast, hash browns, and a protest

at the Capitol Building- something

about abortion- these omelettes

have no yolks.  I sigh.

 

Biscuits & Gravy, Chicken Fried Steak, and

the Death Penalty isn’t just the

cholesterol.  The state execution

toll just hit seventeen for the year.

I examine the contents of my wallet

and assess my national budget.

 

The wait staff buzz about like talking heads

on a cable television pundit show.

I’m thinking about a life spent

in restaurants.

 

“Can I take your order?” asks the Waitress

as effortlessly as one exhales.

I place my order and she nods

distantly, almost disappointed. I

think she wanted something else

for me.

 

The waitress leaves for the kitchen and

I read my bus schedule as though

it were a menu.  The number one

and the number five both look good

but I wish there was a lunch special.

 

Perhaps the whole world is a restaurant

of one sort or another with decisions

made to order and consequences

delivered with a bill and a peppermint.

There are just as many options

in a buffet line.

 

Must I wait to be seated when I’d

rather seat myself? 

 

II.

Oh Bad Cafe-

I left you like a one night stand

and nearly as satisfied.

I left you like a one night stand

and nearly as hungover.

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

You pulled back the curtains

and said “GET OUT!” in not

so many words.  I’m not sure

why I came inside you.

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

Neither of us got what

we wanted.  I wanted comfort

and you wanted a tip. I

wanted a refill and you

rolled your eyes as if to say

“again?”

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

That hair net just doesn’t

compliment you.  Those stains

on your apron just show

how many others were here

before me.

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

We both had a cigarette

afterwards and neither of

us said a word.  You just

shook your head and I

couldn’t look at you the

same way.

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

There was a short hair

in my waffles and roaches

in your toilet. What will

the Health Inspector say?

 

Oh Bad Cafe-

I’m going to tell all my

friends about you like this:

 

STAY THE HELL AWAY.

 

III.

Tater tots are all they’ve got

that I can’t get somewhere else.

They remind me of being a kid

in public school back in Iowa.

 

They let you park your car

and eat in the parking lot

under neon lights drawing

mosquitoes.

 

“Drive in restaurants were a big deal

after living through the Depression”

my Grandma once tried to tell me.

I’d suppose anything hinting at

prosperity would look good next

to relief lines & ration stamps,

so who are they kidding?

 

Sonic is the boom that follows

digestion.  I’ll be dropping gut

bombs on the porcelain city tonight.