I am back
to the familiar tingtinging
of forks on plate.
To the what’ll-it-bes
and the hows-it-goings.
The waitress who still calls me ‘hun’.
‘We drinking coffee today?’ She asks.
She must want some too.
I walked here with my neighbor
Spoke of an old man, George
who once was a boy
with ice skates
with which he discovered a road through this city
that led him to his school in the winter time.
As long as he didn’t fall in.
‘You gonna need a menu?” She asks
Sure. I have a friend joining me by the way.
‘Alright darlin’, I’ll be back with that coffee’
It is spring.
There are children here.
You can tell by their jitters
egged on by a sun who seems to have come back to us
Still a bit of wild left in them
to mom’s chagrin.
Before they grow up and have to starch their shirt collars
they will go home
and enjoy their weekend
‘You boys ready ta order?’
(My friend has arrived)
and we have decided to order the monstrous grease ball
with a complimentary fried egg to top it
The waitresses still laugh here
and the same pictures are on the wall.
They’ll squeeze behind you
to change the thermostat.
Drop knives and make jokes about
trying to kill you.
Don’t forget to tip her well.
Saturday morning at the cafe.
Cafe poems from last year:
Part 1 & 2: https://everydaypoetryproject.wordpress.com/2013/04/02/the-cafe-part-2/
Part 3: https://everydaypoetryproject.wordpress.com/2013/04/09/the-cafe-part-iii/
Part 4: https://everydaypoetryproject.wordpress.com/2013/04/16/the-cafe-part-iv/
Part 5: https://everydaypoetryproject.wordpress.com/2013/04/23/the-cafe-part-v/
Final installment: https://everydaypoetryproject.wordpress.com/2013/04/30/the-cafe-the-final-installment/