by Daniel Peterson
The golden hash browns—
as greasy and seemingly wrinkled
as his nose
(and the rest of his face)
the molten haste—
as uneasy and seemingly unglued
as his eggs
(and the rest of his plate)
were construed; and
the ten dollar Bill—
as facile and seemingly low-rent
as his morning
(and the rest of his life)
had been spent.
Author's Note: It always seems sort of anachronistic to me anymore when I see someone pay with a wad of cash at a diner.
Posted on 10/07/2010
Copyright © 2023 Daniel Peterson
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Therese Elaine on 10/07/10 at 05:01 AM|
Sometimes the best moments in life are the anachronistic ones...someday we'll be throwbacks to something archaic and you won't be able to buy the memory of late-night diner coffee conversation or early morning scrambled eggs and toast wakeup rituals, for anything less than perfect credit and impossible odds...
|Posted by George Hoerner on 10/07/10 at 01:00 PM|
A great snapshot of our age. It is one that if taken with an I phone might be seen a century from now in some text book on archeology at the U of then and now. Well done.
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 10/07/10 at 09:02 PM|
People always think it's weird that I carry cash, so naturally I was able to enjoy the hell out of this. Good stuff, sir.