Two Eggs Over Easy with a side of Poetry

“Two eggs over easy,” I said

and as she looked up from her pad

she gave a start and her face blanched.

Involuntarily she stepped backward

just like the little girl had done earlier

when she and her frightened mother

passed me on the walk.

A dog had whined, tucking his tail

and a cat hissed, arching its back.

An old man sitting on a bench

hid his face behind

his quivering newspaper.

Policemen in their cruiser

circled the block, eyeballing me

while a priest drawing near

crossed himself as he moved the other way.

Oh, and the coup de grace

Girl Scouts selling cookies

slammed shut their cash box

and, gasp, did not ask me

“Sir, would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

So as the waitress found her nerve

I continued on

“and I’ll take a side of wheat toast…dry.”

“Yes, sir,” she stammered

and then quickly scurried away

nervously scribbling on her pad.

I clear my throat and gaze around the room

and all the looky loo’s

jerk their heads the other way

so I push my glasses up on my nose

and continue to scribble on my own pad

wondering as I do

What the hell does it take

for a poet to get a decent meal around here?