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Archive for January 14th, 2012

The Gridiron Diner

By Mather Schneider

There is the usual gallery
of wackos,
homeless men lugging army surplus fardel,
wild as sandpipers,
yellow-throats,
occasional hookers
laughing like kookaburras.
Life is a ziggurat
of coffee-guzzling nut-bags.
But,
there is a waitress named Araceli,
duchess of the diner,
with the curves of a calathus vase
and two yurts bivouaced
high in her shirt.
Her eyes are black sapote
and her figure is a hummocky
mirabile dictu
for which there is no inoculum.
Her Doppler approach to my table
corresponds with the poplar
of Demascus steel
moving down my thigh.
Her words are chryselephantine sculptures
smooth as banana oil
while I might as well
be speaking Upolu,
opening and closing
my mouth like a chub.
At the Gridiron Diner
it’s heaven on a muffin,
matches flare like fireflies
but words will not come
if you order them.
Araceli smiles. My heart jumps
into her hands.

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