Poetry

diner daydreams

the banana split
sits in the middle of
the table,
two spoons either side and a
pot of sticky sweet maple
syrup that he slides
over his
tongue in a way
that entrances the boy opposite
like a magnetic force
that he cannot escape.

usually they'll stay a while,
eat slow, talk fast,
laugh hard.
night will fall and soon
they'll cast away,
and that'll be
the last time they're
seen there ever again.
they drift around the country
and no one knows
their names.

but your best bet,
if you want to find
them, is in a diner -
an old, american diner;
shiny black and white tiles,
flashing juke box in the corner,
coffee brewing, bacon frying
stained red aprons, tills cling clanging,
and maybe if you're lucky,
you'll wind up in the
same place as them.

you'll see how the older one smiles
so selflessly, so helplessly
and smitten, you'll see how
the taller one
gazes intently in constant
admiration and pure adoration.
you'll see true love, witness a miracle -
and maybe they'll hold hands.
before they drive off in
their fast car, sleek, black and
they'll be gone just like that.