Roadside Cafe

ROADSIDE CAFÉ All morning in the car they had been bickering. All year at home. Stop in at roadside café hungry for something: Look for table where the bags won’t roam. Sign over the food counter, before you spend, Unsubtle, terse, rather gritty : “You must pay at the end” - They make their selection - not much variety. Two-day old stale sausage rolls. Tea, but rather cold when it arrives From the automatic machine with holes. Hardly worth it but it almost revives. Like all drivers, shuffle along sliding their trays On the rails until they reach the end-gate At the cash register and the girl says - Are you together or separate?