image borrowed from bing
“I die a little inside every time I see an old
person alone in a restaurant.”--Anonymous.
I took my wife to the airport today;
kissed her, missed her, drove on stressed out--so sad.
Since yesterday was April’s last, it’s now May.
I decided to stop at Denny’s--had to piss bad.
While there I thought I might as well have food;
had coffee, soft bacon, hard eggs, cinnamon French Toast.
It sounded so fine, I knew it would be good--
but after it came, my face paled like a ghost.
Bacon was thin & greasy & tasted like cardboard;
the French Toast was nearly raw, the eggs were burned,
the coffee was bitter, the milk was sour--oh Lord.
I forced myself to consume the crap--undefined
rage was rising in my neck; paying the bill, but
stiffing the waitress her tip, holding back my vomit.
Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB
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