in
a long extinct cafeteria,
(it was one of those roach on the wall, last dime eateries,
an
edifice of low cuisine,
where
you'd push your tray along rails
and
a sneezy server would plop food
half
on your plate and half on the floor,
then
you'd throw down your copper, silver,
and
occasional dollars
and
run to claim a seat
hoping
that the fellow slob next to you didn't reek)
I was
a 3 A.M. diner.
A disheveled
Joe stumbled in looking for the john,
but
was evicted by the manager
with
a "Scram bum."
He
had already spent his last cent;
we
inside were yet to spend ours.
And
he stared at us all
through
the wide front window---
just
a glass pane and pennies away.
He
zipped down his fly,
and
washed away window grime
as
he marked his territory.
All
the dining denizens dropped their knives and forks
and
looked away,
except
me.
I raised
my spoon in an almost salute
and
slurped my chicken soup.
The
manager chased him away with a bat.
So
much for marking territory without cash.
I would
have feigned nausea
and
skipped out on the tab
to
keep a few more coins,
but
I was dining in a cash-in-advance dive.
