Mid-Life Diner

there's this place
where omelets salted with butter
taste perfectly
blessed in ham and peppers
the same way the jazz of
Miles Davis' spangled
notes during Almost Blue
are best listened to
'round midnight
in the spot I'm at, baby
open all night.

It's a slight interruption
from the gossamer
of the American dream
which is what we talk about
these days, monies and marriages lost
like bamboo twigs
in a tsunami's distempered thrashing
replaced by split-second
glimpses of an entrance,
high-heels clicking on a dirty
green and white checked floor.

So here's a toast,
to your mouth
slathered bright red
lips of jelly,
a proposed bailout
when butter meets jam.


-Timothy Gager


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