To Dine Alone

Coffee black and strong,

Gripped between cigarette stained fingers,

Making small talk,

How ’bout the weather?

Did ya see the news?

Filler to pass the time.

Old men hunched over cold eggs and bacon,

Swilling bottomless cups of mud,

Chain smoking Lucky’s,

Melancholy in the swirling cloud of second-hand smoke.

Each one has a story,

Exaggerated tales of loves lost,

Fables of misfortune and triumph,

White lies cast as bait to a sympathetic crowd.

“Sweetie”, a patron’s cry,

Barking for a check, menu, or refill,

Significant in this sea of anonymity,

Otherwise silently ignored.

The revolving door,

Room for one more lonely transient,

One more cup of thick black coffee,

Held between nicotine stained fingers,

Another tall tale wrapped in white lies,

Told to another friend,

Scarcely more than a stranger,

Just another forlorn castaway,

Adrift on a sea of tribulation.