Stuck to the linoleum of a restaurant booth
A series of haikus and moments in diners for National Poetry Month
Awhile back I started jotting down a few thoughts and memories from sitting in diners - one of those third spaces where good, bad, weird and wonderful things tend to happen. It sparked a brief series of haiku I called “Stuck to the linoleum of a restaurant booth.” I paired them with photos I had taken.
Since April is National Poetry Month, I thought why dig them out and share. My initial thought was to create a zine, or maybe even push it to a chapbook. For now, they can live here on Title TBD.
the sound of soda
fizz at a roadside diner
when talk turns quiet
beneath neon light buzz,
the puff of grandma’s Pall Mall
and dry pork fried rice
rainy suburb nights,
the Mister Midnight Donut
orders two to go
it’s a friday night,
drop quarters in the jukebox
and never go home
(To Grandma on her birthday)
Pink neon lights, blue walls,
Roy Rogers at The Class Act.
Nicest joint in town.
There’s a vivid memory of my grandma - vivid because it is such a consistent experience into my teenage years - sitting across from me at a restaurant table, sipping coffee and smoking a Pall Mall. I don’t remember her eating much, if at all.
We sat quietly, watching time go by in quiet restaurants.
It was nice.