Unfinished crosswords and cigarettes
feed the granite regulars at the diner.
Torn vinyl and stained tiles welcome
neighborhood regulars; black rimmed glasses,
uncombed hair, cowboy boots, long
sleeve shirts and a variety of hats.
The food lacks life.
Coffee fuels the thoughts. The place is
a safety net dipped in grease.
The radio stales the air.
A ceiling fan labors without love. Sweat
and steam bathe the cook. Hollow eyes
hold camp in the forest of the uncommon.