I walk into a diner
The New England scenary
Plastered onto walls
In forms of gaudy, faux
Deer heads.
Flourescent signs read:
"Try our hashbrowns!"
"Early bird special!"

In a far corner
You can hear the gossip
Old ladies from church
Yapping about wrinkle cream
In between bites of spinach pie.
"Is there green in my teeth."

They all reply no
-Stifling a laugh-

Crammed against a window
Is a five year old boy
His eyelids droop with fatigue
His thumb in his mouth
Hair matted against his head
That lies on the comfort
Of his father's welcoming arms.

In the kitchen
You can hear the waitresses
They bustle
Holding plates
"Did you see how short So-and-So's skirt was"

"Where's my breakfast?"

"Coming right up, Sir!"

A middle-aged man
With hair growing thin
Scratches the side of his graying beard
Folds a newspaper.

"I've been waiting an hour, Ma'am. Frankly I'm ready to go."

His head retreats back to the paper
His foot up
His eyes sad.
A picture in his wallet
Expresses the sadness of his fate
As he stares at it longingly.

Outside a light rain begins to fall
The dampness of the morning
Grows dark and blustery.

As a downfall starts
A woman trips over a high heel
Carrying four grocery bags
And a crying baby girl:

"I WANT MY ICECREAM.. NOWWWW!"

She rushes the child into the Diner
Quieting her screams.

Lonesome in a booth
You can see him staring
Eyes shifting back and forth
Writing in a journal
Never to be seen.

His glasses look a part of his face
And his beady black eyes are blank
But the sincerity in his smile
And the warmth in his "Thank yous"
Are not seen.

He is but an onlooker
Who takes a piece of life with him
Every where he goes.

He closes his journal
Tips his hat to his waitress
And leaves with a novel
He wrote at the Diner.

04/14/2003

Posted on 04/15/2003
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer