I stopped at a Waffle House
off the highway somewhere
between Mobile and New Orleans.
I don’t remember the name of the town
between Mobile and New Orleans.
I don’t remember the name of the town
but it really doesn’t matter.
Most of the stops on that road
seem like a bad verse
from a country song anyway.
As I was eating my breakfast
I overheard conversation
between my waitress
and one of her coworkers.
It made me stop and think
about where it starts to go wrong.
The first time hope falls like a stone
and hits you square in the gut,
when a blue cross appears in the window
of that goddam little stick
or what starts as a lover’s quarrel
ends in stitches and flashing lights.
The weight of the indignities, in time,
sucks the joy out of life like bedbugs
feeding on an invalid. Surrender
is shitty perfume and sorrow
doesn’t compliment anyone’s eyes.
I left a twenty for a twelve dollar tab
and went outside for cigarette.
I tried to think back to where it started
to go wrong for me. How did I end up
here on this road so far from where I started
and so far from you.
SMG
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