the man in the fine suit
gave me three hard quarters--those Washingtons were smiling at me, waiting to be swallowed by the machines at Horn and Hardart's Automat, where
there was but one old lady
standing, still as a statue, in front of a machine
her reflection on the glass staring back at her,
a haunting twin, from a different
mother. I could taste those ham sandwiches
waiting, but when that first quarter chinked its way into that dispenser, the old woman and her reflection turned to me, hungry
for something I couldn't taste;
so I gave her my other quarters, and hurried
into the night, chewing my food,
still hungry when done, but far
from her tired eyes, far
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
the man in the fine suit
gave me three hard quarters--those Washingtons were smiling at me, waiting to be swallowed by the machines at Horn and Hardart's Automat, where
there was but one old lady
standing, still as a statue, in front of a machine
her reflection on the glass staring back at her,
a haunting twin, from a different
mother. I could taste those ham sandwiches
waiting, but when that first quarter chinked its way into that dispenser, the old woman and her reflection turned to me, hungry
for something I couldn't taste;
so I gave her my other quarters, and hurried
into the night, chewing my food,
still hungry when done, but far
from her tired eyes, far
Horn and Hardarts was the name of a chain of Automats in New York in the Depression era and beyond
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