Fix
A Poem
S. Joel Garver
no sooner
than the half-empty
bottomless cup again
returns to the ringed counter,
do my 3am eyes
trace her tightly
uniformed curves
reflected within formica--
and the burnt stale
odor steams up
once more
I sip caffeine to stall
that stabbing ache
that's never really gone
and glance up around
the all-night diner--
stainless steel retro
like adam west
back in some kitschy
neon eden
the dingy busboy
somehow can show teeth,
a smiling minister
to filthy flatware,
even as that patron
eyes him with a
crucifying gaze
on her cigarette break
leaves of the
unread Times
fall from my lap
and I swill down to the
bitter grounds
as I perceive faintly,
"Take that, sir?"
and offer him
the emptiness of my cup