Third Shift Lovers

A little after 4 a.m.,
the waitress stands on tiptoes,
hugs her cook and kisses
the teardrop tattooed
on his stubbled cheek.

He scrambles eggs
and does not smile,
but his arm circles her waist
and that is enough
I suppose.

Grease and cigarette smoke
carry these two
into every sunrise
together.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. Published Mar 27, 2010
  
Email this page to a friendEmail this page to a friend


By using this site, you agree to abide by the Site Policies.
This website © Gabriel Gadfly 2009-2012