Little Poem For Saturday

Galaxy Diner

My father would have loved a place like this,

all the way over on the West side.

You could still smoke inside restaurants

when he was alive,

and he smoked Newport,

before, during, and after dinner.

I remember. The last time, he screamed at a waitress

for having brought the bread and butter out too soon.

Finally you arrive in work clothes and funny tie.

This time is mine.

I think about your life when you’re not with me.

When you’re not with me, I think about your life.



Yes, I am a consulting Astrologer and Tarot Reader but started a 30 Poems in 30 Days project in late January, mostly unpublished poems from the archives. I took two of the poems away today though (long story) so if anyone’s gone looking, the project is missing pieces, possibly to be returned and possibly not! This one’s a little gloomy, isn’t it 🙂

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