I'm sitting in a booth
at the Salem Oak diner.
the seats are off pink vinyl--
a tired hooker's lipstick.
waitresses with neck tattoos
carry steaming plates
of other people's satisfaction.
I'll never be a rich man,
I think to tell the girl,
but I can eat and pay rent
in the same week,
so let's kill this pig together.
I back out in silence.
breaking news on the television--
Neil Young has filed for divorce.
it's 10 am when my pancakes arrive,
and I've yet to hit on the waitress.