then to the diner
for coffee
and eggs
and pancakes
and biscuits and gravy,
cuz I am hungry
and I have less blood
and I have been working so hard
on my health and fitness
since January 3rd
so I am treating myself.
I am thrilled
to just read my book
at the bar-top,
and enjoy a slow morning,
that even when the cops are called
on someone fighting
in the parking lot,
I don't care,
as long as I can chat about Israel
with the old guy next to me
who turns out to be a pastor from Miami.
The busboy interrupts
to talk about love,
and I agree that
hate takes a lot of work,
and I am so happy
in this poetic moment
that most people
wouldn't give a shit about,
but I add more butter
to my pancakes,
and blow everyone's mind
when I quote Proverbs 10:21:
The lips of the righteous feed many,
but fools die for lack of sense.
I pay the waitress,
who didn't say much,
and give her a big tip,
because an extra $20 to me
compared to what it means to her
on a Friday morning shift
where people fight in the parking lot
and satisfied poets leave
with sugar and caffeine
in their veins,
ready to write the wrongs
of the whole world
before noon.