Diner Off Exit 66
How many come,
get gassed, fed, watered, relieved,
and leave the waitresses,
ladies of the all-night
indifferent to day—
a dinner omelet,
a breakfast cocktail,
where every meal
is any meal,
and bitter coffee
continually flows
from the counter,
where America’s finest ketchup
stands proud behind the sugar,
forever used up,
refilled,
replaced,
changing hands
like the guest check
turned and overturned,
or the saucer-covered quarters
it took an hour to earn?
I leave whatever I can
on this smooth, reflecting counter,
impressed by the depression
of a stop along the way,
where only those who serve
will stay.
February 1, 2017
for "Travel Light" Contest
Copyright © Rita A. Simmonds | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment