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August 27, 2005
cracked coffee at the diner
stepped into the hash house
sometime after four in the A.M.
swing sets beneath my eyes
and frozen hands in pockets
find a table near the window
and order coffee
outside the snow is falling like a white shadow
wiping away anything that lies still
and my truck is dissolving into the landscape
the waitress tosses me my coffee
and I wrap my fingers
around the hot cup
hoping to bring life
back into them
there is an old man in a torn hunting jacket
asleep on the counter, gathering moss
a small foghorn blows from his breast
periodically
and the waitress pays him no mind
I suppose this is a reasonable hour
and place
to give in
I ask for some eggs and sausage, hashbrowns
and she plods along
annoyed at having something
to do
Ive come eight hundred miles
and its always the same empty faces
same empty lives
staring back at the reflection
of my own
and I wonder
if its even worth the trouble
to go any further
down the line
Posted by Drexler at August 27, 2005 02:55 PM