Doing December duty,
my car runs rough
past the old, dirty diner where I caught her:
an angry escape artist, tired of her own tears.
It was perhaps our last negotiation;
a midnight congress
over crappy coffee
served by a somnambulant seniorita in mexi-town.
Today her restaurant was razed,
and reduced to rubble.
Now only ruins remain
of the old, dirty diner,
of our love,
and all her trouble.
And all I want for Christmas
(besides peace on earth)
is a shiny new diner
and snowfall in mexi-town.
nicely done. particularly the last stanza.
Posted by: Neil E. Das at December 23, 2004 02:26 PMthanks neil. i have written 2 poems in the past 5 years. check back in 2007 and see what i have cooked up.
i like your poems, though.
Posted by: abe at December 23, 2004 05:34 PM