come from under the white lights of
Merritt’s country cafe
the moon like an alley cat’s
peach, chocolate, lemon and berry
elephant ear scones frying up fluffy as the
waitress slings sensible, no frills coffee
into our chunky dinnerware cups
scratchy old leather booths
still stale from years prior of smoking
are crammed next to
the jukebox that drinks quarters as
the busboy flips the volume up
and the night rages on against the dying
with the whole cafe spontaneously
singing along to Sweet Caroline
powdered sugar halos and the breath of berries
take up space at the
24 hours at the lonely cafe
the sound of violin bows of cricket legs rubbing
and the glow worm radio dash lights and
single headlights a good luck hushed tone of
Copyright © 2018 by Carolyn M. Bevington. All Rights Reserved.
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