Lynne Potts

Half a Cup, More Please

Green glazed diner vinyl counter top hunch

back waiter Heinz red apron, squat pepper couple,

glass and stained steel, pound cake to a pulp:

contours of collapse — an abandoned caboose,

diner coffee cup. I crossed my heart, hoped

for eggs, butter, sugar in lumps, elbows every

where bacon smell hovered to serve — what purpose

paper hands, forked tongue, bibs of green

laminate trays, incidents of flash and cameo cliché.

I am the diner, reader. I take in; I am taken

in by mustard jars and serrated pickles —

relish all I tell you, grotesque and dear.