last night's dream
Layers of voices
fill what little space is open.
My apron is filthy,
worn,
from coffee and syrup
and another sleepness night at the diner.
As my pen hits the pad
I'm dizzy with commotion --
grills sizzle,
plates crash,
menus open,
mouths chomp.
Someone shouts at me.
I reach for the decaf
but my feet won't move.
Melissa Gentile
Tue 21st Feb 2017 22:50
There's something about the chaos of a diner that lends well to poetry. Thanks so much for the feedback! ?