3am Diner

hot grease heat blows through the vents,
phones ring and waitresses shout the early bird orders,
cooks bark back in thick loud french,
cash registers beep and clack and change clinks
dropping into gnarled fingers,
warm plates stacked with eggs and meat are sent gliding across the
counters,
sombre and weathered patrons shovel in the toast and wash it down with
bottomless coffee,
other night owls burst through the frost paneled door and take refuge
from the cold in the vinyl cushioned booths,
insipid chatter and a loud TV blasts hockey announcer twang,
salt is peppered over the "Trucker Special,"
as the steaming grill is laced with oil,
an old man slowly works through a steak and onions and sips a cold 50'
he sings to himself, a dirty old Winnipeg Jets cap sits lightly tilted
on his head,
sitting with a cousin, he goes on to tell me about his frustrating work
and demanding girlfriend,
the conversation broken by the cook and a drunk laughing heartily,
the waitress smokes quickly outside the window,
shivering in her long coat,
a young mother and her baby girl eat peacefully in a corner booth,
the little girl happily tapping the tray covered with dry cheerios,
some fall on the floor as the baby laughs and yells,
"I'm alive...are you?" she is asking in baby language,
The old man at the bar smiles and nods and takes a large swallow of his
50.