Friday, August 3, 2007

A Letter to the Lone

I look at you

through the window

at your face.

Awash

in a swirling sea of pale grays

under the fluorescent

electric suns of 2 a.m.

breakfast mornings,

hiding from the moon.

Body draped

in a bleach stained blue t-shirt.

A punch hole patron

sitting

eating

drinking

and thinking, what?

at the Golden Gables

24-hour diner

all pall bearer solemn

on a Thursday night.

Alone.

Weary eyed with

hair slicked back

into a sad thinning mullet

brooding

over cups of coffee

and white ovals

drowning with the grease

of Midwest American obesity.

Bulging gut

resting and breathing

on the plastic wood

of the table while

you beg the dangling

red-headed cigarette

to take you soon,

to make good on their promises

as even the smoke

leaves you

alone.

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