A1 Diner
Gardiner, Maine
old forgotten diner car
hanging to the side of a concrete bridge
river and traffic move under
and alongside
the limited parking and potholes
of a hungry town
neons flash to drivers by
a plastic clock on the wet metal roof
deco lettering says
booth service inside
holy old diner car
shelter from the cold and rain
cozy thermos bottle
of cuisine
metal and smoky wood panels wrap around
early morning conversations and
strong coffee
in chipped white mugs
morning papers lie stacked
with news
eyes glance at weekend waitresses
and strangers eating their breakfast in public
I look outside
rain beats on pavement through
cracked window
with duck tape in the corner
hunger drives me
hunger drives us all
to the same place
time is here
going nowhere
reality of the moment
caught in a fifty
year old diner car
of greasy eggs
and clatter
long marble-top counter
well-worn stools
that have spun
a million turns
booths are small
for economy of size
miniture toy diner
no expansion plans
old diner plates with
thick rounded edges
hold hot steamy food
pancakes
bacon
homefires
short orders
of years gone by
over
and
over
re-appearing each day
in a shiny
diner car
hanging to the side of a concrete bridge
As I leave, I walk down the outside stairway
and relieve myself by one of the steel legs
under the belly of the diner.
Calloused years of exposed plumbing
and drainage don’t matter anymore.
Just another stranger from out of town.
Just another stranger in a hungry town.
for brian
02/24/96
