Strutting, “Hallelujah.” With a briefcase ass and the lips of a preacher, tapping Communion, sipping ground round at a “greasy spoon.” wearing a skirt with a slit, halfway up to Indianapolis. Someone’s mama beneath the flickering neon.
The coffee black as night
like a Cadillac El Dorado
on the midnight hour
saving me from the prophet
and ghost of insomnia
with an Oscar Mayer Wiener
The ambience reeking, tasting like stale beer and old slew footed Camel Cigarettes with no ambition that could a scald a tongue off a worn out pair of shoes. The menu reading like CliffNotes. Cheeseburger and fries. Crotch dumpling’s and crawdad stew, Cow Tongue and Monique, with a little bit of tongue in cheek. “Praise the Laud and pass the brisket.”
This is good. It feels like you are taking a ride in the summer and enjoying a barbecue and conversation.
Lol! You think.