Bad Breakfast at IHOP and Falling in Love

"Could be
one of them
Catfish"
slurping coffee
with an
accusing flair.

I looked for
the polyester
betty who had
taken our order
and faded away
into IHOP
hell.

"You know like
that ball player-
the Samoan
kid and the
queer"

I screwed up
my face,
"First of all
you're a dick,
and second-
the fuck are
you talking
about"

"You say this
chick did T.V.,
she's a singer
and such.
Jesus just look
at that picture-
so outta your
league"

"Her dads
some famous
beatnik dude
that kicked it
with Frank"

The hard edged
waitress
whose mouth
remained twisted
into a speed-fueled
grimace
fairly threw
plates with
bacon and eggs,
burnt hash browns
and tweaked
out of sight
before I could
ask for
Tabasco.

"Have you ever
seen this broad,
you know
face to face?"

My head ached
and my stomach
did back flips
at the sight
of egg yolks.

"Does she know
you got nothing,
she know you
did time?"

Not for the first
time I thought
that booze made
for strange
company, and
leaned back
and belched.

"There's no way
to tell you,
that you'd
understand-

first you're
a dick,
and second
she writes me
these love poems-

she's
shown me her
soul."

I bent over
the bad breakfast
and ignored
the look
he gave-

it sounded dumb
even to me
but I loved
falling in love-

and do not poke bears.

Heart and soul

My words,
yes,
that is what
drew you,

that sparked
a rememberence
of connections
long ago.

A dream,
since,
that is what
made you

yearn for
a love shelved
 a moment
'til destiny's
deja vu.

Your poems,
love,
 they are
treasured

they are
written in
ancient ink
onto my
heart and soul.