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?