Poem – Writing This Morning

© 2018 Rebecca Wralstad. All Rights Reserved. Time-stamped by Beta Readers.

Instead of defeating a deadline

I wake up in a late-night diner,

Al Green on the jukebox.

 

I am tired of being alone.

 

So, I scoot into a booth

and the plot-driving man opposite me

pulls a Tarot card.

He lays it facedown between us

and I reach for a menu;

 

There should be tension under small talk.

 

Our waitress confesses

she wants to be a singer

but, other than that surprise,

I see nothing beyond the steamed-up windows,

a highway-sided parking lot,

and weak streetlights unable to

illuminate the rest of the world.

 

There is only this scene:

the jangle of cheap cutlery,

a sizzling griddle,

the soft cough of inspiration

drinking coffee in the booth behind me.

 

I don’t know my date

but he tips a flask into his soda

sensing correctly

I am the femme fatale.

 

I put up the orders for the winking cook

who is somehow in on the joke.

I arrange the customers along the counter

and decide who is down on their luck.

I shove the tipsy kids, still content with their day jobs,

far in a booth in the back.

I admire the shift worker

with his Carhartts and mechanical Zen,

and I hope the scratch-off in his pocket

is a winner.

 

I can’t punch a clock

when I fall into scenes like this one.

 

Didn’t you hear the bell ring?

Orders up

 

and I can already taste the French fries.

Author: The Write Witch

Professional Ghostwriting Services: Paranormal Romance, Magical Realism, Urban Fantasy, Occult, Science Fiction, and MORE!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s