Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I have seen my share of old men Sitting early in diners: Widowers, perhaps, Or never-weds, Seldom women, Excepting tired street people, Tattered bags sprawling Disheveled out of the wet, Leaving only when the manager Steps up with a bottle of soapy water And a cleaning rag, The polite symbol of "It's time to go." Fast food, No place to rest, Up and moving before the family crowd Can see the riff-raff Who sat these chairs earlier, Who hunker now on some lee-side wall Against the chill spring rain.
0
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Early Diners
I have seen my share of old men Sitting early in diners: Widowers, perhaps, Or never-weds, Seldom women, Excepting tired street people, Tattered bags sprawling Disheveled out of the wet, Leaving only when the manager Steps up with a bottle of soapy water And a cleaning rag, The polite symbol of "It's time to go." Fast food, No place to rest, Up and moving before the family crowd Can see the riff-raff Who sat these chairs earlier, Who hunker now on some lee-side wall Against the chill spring rain.
Spring, riff-raff, breakfast
don-bouchard
Written by
66/M/American
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem