We ate around noon at a diner
With wrinkled waitresses covered in a cigarette perfume
While drinking from finger-print riddled glasses
And eating from cold sore forks.
She hiked her skirt for a larger tip
Exposing varicose veins and ingrown hairs.
Added flavor to my already seasoned food.
I know the cook’s behind the counter
Rubbing cheese on our toast.
That grin isn’t homemade.
We sat in horror as the specimens
Gradually walked through the glass doors.
Oozing seams tearing at a glance under false stars
Tonight at 2 a.m. the false start at Denny’s or is it Lenny’s?
They do in fact…yes…cheat.
Dolores, the name as ironic as it seems
Yes, our waitress came back with an open shirt
With mounds that did in fact protrude in a manner
That implied “Get your buttermilk here.”
I could see the look in my friend’s eyes
As he cupped his hands.
“May I sample the goods ma’am?” he stated.
“I get off at three. Bring a bottle of vegetable oil
And Pall Malls.” she stated.
I was requesting a bit more ash
Along with a hint of dandruff in my coffee
But she was too preoccupied
With her lipstick artwork
And after hours decree.
…and a final sneeze seals the deal.
©James Kelly Evans II