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August 11, 2021

Morning At The Diner

I sat drinking bottles of coca-cola
in a diner at 7am, content to just be watching

the trains at the station across the street

black coats exited the silver train 

from the platform they ascended the stairs 

to downtown like a massive army of ants

like shattered splinters of shrieking shrapnel

they exploded into the avenues and boulevards crisscrossing the city

over rusting bridges and skittering up skyscrapers 

of which the tops were lost in the morning fog

that wouldn’t burn off until afternoon

women wearing athletic shoes walking to their jobs

carrying their high heels for office wear

other women clicking down sprawling sidewalks 

looking at their reflections in store windows offering ‘once a year” sales every other month

from the diner with its twirly stools

to a polynesian place with wooden bridges over flowing rivers 

fake cawing toucans and assorted birds, mai-tais

hawaiian chicken served on a faux bamboo plate with rice

feels like another world inside, far far away from the hustle and bustle of the city

it’s cool and it’s dark and it’s wonderful

then after eating there, a walk down canal street to union station

bus terminal with shabby people outside of it

sitting and sleeping on wooden benches in need of paint

old folks shuffling in and out in worn out shoes

a few young people looking around at the buildings

you can tell it’s their first time in the city, or maybe a city this size

dirty yellow taxis honk their horns, buses pull out for the next destination

wherever that may be