Diner, A.M.

The couple in the corner sits side-by-side

before two plates of eggs and two coffees.

He holds the morning paper in his left

and forks food and news to his mouth

with the right, so riveted by the latest

presidential barbarity that four bites in

he missed the plate and speared the table.

She, on the other hand, stares at or through

the window, unblinking, breakfast intact

but for the single taste of what he ordered

for her, a fleck of scramble adhered to her

lip like the last of her senses that have not

yet let go but will be wiped free when the

check is paid and the dregs of the cold black

coffee and the bitter truth are swallowed.

 

© Dana Hughes 3.5.18

One thought on “Diner, A.M.

  1. What pain there is in this scene, all the more painful for having been played out at most breakfast tables most days. Two people at the same table in different universes, moving apart at the speed of despair. Your gift, I think, is reading the depths of these moments with clarity and courage, and no small bit of compassion.

    Makes me think of Thoreau, “The mass of men [sic] lead lives of quiet desperation.”

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