We could write poetry about pie
all night long at the diner
if the coffee’s good
like we did at Silk City
while the band sobered up
under the eye of the nightshift waitress,
the one with the Chicklets
in the smiling pocket of her poodle skirt,
whose favorite idio-nicety was "never enough"
—her coffee good and endless,
she poured it with a wink—
or was it “never grow up”?
All the same to us back then
an either/or tattoo at three a.m.
when we were in love
and didn’t even know it
Photo by Logan Stone on Unsplash