Best Diner Poems
an automat whose orbs of light
reflect and touch the void of night
a refuge from the twenties’ roar
trapped in her thoughts without a door
a table, cup and gloveless hand
alone together in her land
a bowl of fruit that sits behind:
the 'still life' and her state of mind.
She's a diner girl
A trucker's fantasy
A little bit tough
While being sexy
Sure she likes to flirt
A tool of her trade
She has them dreaming
Thinking they'll get laid
The tips all add up
For dreams of her own
When her shift's over
She goes home alone
You think you know her
She plays the part well
Your glimpse of heaven
Her personal hell
Her expectations
Are grander than this
She desires more
Than a truckers kiss
Nothing can stop her
Or get in her way
The World needs dreamers
Who dream better days
She sent back the last order, as well.
This time, she shook her head
like a dog in the rain,
like a posh-frock woman
having "a spell."
The brimming broth, she said,
had a bitterness that swelled
and stung between her cheeks,
and across her tongue.
It steamed with the scent
of turmeric and sweat,
a lipstick kiss in the basement
of the Red Grotto Used Bookstore,
of a Dominican girl, half her age,
in skin jeans and red sneakers,
pulling her by the hand
during Summer City Lit Festival
last year.
She claimed she craved the
steaming heat of our menu's
Andean soup,
but bones like razors waited
when she raised the brim
of the bowl to her lips.
Just like the wine she sent back,
she said that the broth bit her lip
with a vicious grin
when she closed her eyes,
opened wide,
leaned in,
and tried to love it
with the whole of her mouth.
Little piggy eyes
Large man, self assured, loud voice
Breakfast comes and goes
Clyde's Fine Country Diner is located about a mile south of town.
If you're lookin' fer rib-stickin' grub, its the greatest place aroun'!
Clyde retired after cookin' fer twenty-two years in the U.S. Navy,
Servin' up gobs of SOS, more delicately known as biscuits 'n' gravy!
It ain't a fancy place, jes' some booths and a dozen tables er so,
Dominated by a friendly but saucy-tongued waitress named Ruby Flo.
Farmers in John Deere caps meet there fer breakfast ever' day.
The Baptist Ladies Aid Society meets each Tuesday noon to dine 'n' pray.
Country and Western blares from the juke box near the kitchen door.
Ain't no fancy carpet gracin' the place, jes' a squeakin' wooden floor.
The menu ain't changed much over the years but it is quite replete,
With homemade pies, toxic navy coffee plus plain good things to eat.
Sundays, he features fried chicken, peas and smashed pertaters,
Mondays, soup du jour and tossed salad with garden fresh termaters.
Tuesdays, Clyde offers Mexican with enchiladas and tacos in the shell
Wednesdays, the speciality is green chili soup, the hottest this side of hell!
Thursdays, you can enjoy all you can eat of macaroni and cheese.
Fridays, he features either chicken fried steak er a servin' of Chinese.
Saturdays, is his famous chef d'oeuvre, prawns and black angus steak!
It ain't a 5-star café but Clyde serves great grub, of that there's no mistake!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
There was a chef named Luke,
All of his entrees were nuked.
In every dinner he planned,
All of his food was canned,
And most of his patrons puked.
Now many patrons inquired,
Why this chef was never fired,
But his boss was anemic,
and very bulimic,
Which is why Luke was hired.
This Diner's reputation lags,
But the owner always brags,
That his dining auditorium,
is a modern vomitorium
With no need for doggie bags.
The TV shows
wars and scandal
with big faces
moving lips
running words
on every wall
while disc jockeys threaten
bad traffic and weather
through the ceiling.
I slurp my omelet’s florescent cheese
that strings from mouth to plate,
slug my coffee
and try to catch the waiter’s fast glance
before the street cleaner comes
loaded guns
spinning down the block.
I hear a buzz from my purse.
Someone I’ve never met
wants to know, “What’s up?”
My soul’s reply: “WTF?”
April 18, 2017
for Landscape and Towns Poetry Contest
A Poets Dozen Fried stirred put in the Oven
Breakfast Lunch Dinner Dessert they Love it
Your own private Diner a blended Fatata
Served with coffee chocolate makes it hotter
Its your cup of Tea brewing the pot screams
With a bit of Raw Honey melted a throat eased
Butter Bread A Puerto Rican Dream
Melts in your mouth the simple things please
Now if you would like eggs over easy
The yolk in the center would run dreaming
With a side of bacon maybe a piece of ham
To dip in the center would be a grand slam
How about some scrabbled eggs with Cheese
Or a lovely danish hard boiled preferably
Have you ever had punch made with grape juice
Eggs whipped with sugar enhancing a favorite fruit
Maybe a poached egg perhaps an omelette instead
Stuffed with a filling ingredients run to your head
French Toast pancakes hashbrowns at last
This Diner is cooking take a plate don't pass
To swallow it down orange juice take a glass
Your ready to pump iron enough protein you've had
See you next time it was a pleasure to entertain
This diner now closed hope you enjoyed your unconventional first date
12/28/2015
I am standing
In a line scene
Cuz my body
Needs its caffeine
And in front of me some dink
Orders a confusing drink
Now he’s changing ‘round his order
With our patients growing shorter
And a sword from
Someone’s pocket
Now sticks through the
Guy’s eye socket
Du du du du
Du du du du
Du du du-du du-du du-du...
Welcome to the ultimately ethical food restaurant and take away.
All dishes are guaranteed dead, for all plant and animal products and ingredients.
Vegan ethics has been shattered and thrown under a 'food-to-go' bus
By the findings that plants have feelings and get hurt just like us.
A scientist connected plants to machines to test their feelings
When prodded with fork and cut with sharp knife.
To everyone's surprise, impaled carrots, tomatoes and even lettuce
Squeaked and shrieked out with unconscious 'pain', just like us.
Plants have nerves, plants have feelings, plants get hurt,
When harvested and killed, just like cows, chickens, fish and prawns.
They scream out in agony when dragged from earth, sliced, grated, or cut from vine,
Making the ethical choice of what to eat humanely, most sublime.
At the 'Grateful Dead, Deadans Diner' we solve all your problems and concerns.
Nothing here is served fresh; no plant or animal part on your plate, is served alive.
Everything has been killed by someone else; all food on your plate is guaranteed dead,
Cooked, steamed, micro-waved, fried and sautéed; nothing served fresh nor alive and kicking, all dead instead.
Diner Pour Deaux Moi et Toi
(Dinner For Two Me and You)
I've laid a quilt on this stretch of beach,
the place where our romance had its start.
Where one night, I took your offered hand
The night I gave you my hand and heart.
Soft light from candles in lanterns on the ground.
Two glasses for the aperitif I'm about to pour.
We sip and gaze into each other's hungry eyes.
As rhythmic sounds of waves crash on the shore.
I've set the stage with the intent of seduction.
Let's start our late night feast with finger food.
Grapes I've peeled, and brie, our appe(teasers).
Sparkling white wine should add to the mood.
We'll share a cold crisp cucumber salad
With a light dressing made with mint.
I've kept it chilled just the way you like
In the hope you're getting the hint.
I've delicious little roast beef sandwiches
To place upon your tongue with my fingers
There's no need to hurry, my darling.
Love and dinner will be sweeter if we linger.
Is there room for my French apple pie,
topped with globs of cold whipped cream?
From the look I see in your green eyes,
You've caught on to my romantic scheme.
Let's take a walk behind the moonlit dunes
I've the notion we're ready for a little flirt
We won't be taking home the leftovers.
We'll have each other as tonight's dessert.
November 2, 2015
This wasn’t requested, but eluded too,
A poem for us, what written by you,
It is different, it’s gonna take time,
Third person writing, composing this thyme,
My name is Kelly, work at L D,
Along with Vanessa, similarities you’ll see,
Both twenty-two, blonde and brunette,
Both date guys, not married yet,
Fifteen years, our senior they are,
Both drive a truck, SUV, or car,
There are three kids in my relationship,
That’s what I told Sam, as coffee he sip,
Vanessa has two, her beau has one,
Third person writing is really quite fun,
We both go to college, not the same place,
Our hair is different and so is our face,
But that’s normal explanation you see,
We’re not sisters, no relation be,
Well here comes Janet, owner’s kid,
I’ll tell you her age, but it’ll be hid,
Tens place holder, square root son’s age,
This could take longer, than just one page,
Units digit, little complicated,
Calculating it, sophisticated,
It’s the cube root, from a Beatles song,
Complete the sentence, it won’t take long,
Not sure the title two word precede,
“When I’m ----- - ----”, is all your gonna need,
The spaces above, represent the word,
Just fill it in the space, I know you’ve heard,
So a closing thought, before I go,
Kelly didn’t write it, if ya wanna know.
ghost waiter blimey bondo
a haunting in a condo
rushed in a flurry
and pot of curry
hope sir you like potato.
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
Though it has stellar moonscapes
And the breathable sand lakes
Gork's place really stewed
With Drakari food
We just like the Tribble cakes