Dining In?

The waitress,
duotone hair, lavender eye-shadow,
sat us by
a Mexican family,
grim, save children
playing pat-a-cake, unaware.

Unusually tall,
a Black man apologized
to his lady,
bleach-dead locks, tan face-paint,
for asinine remarks
overheard by a corpulent couple
whose skin no longer fit.

Hannah and I,
road-weary, bemused
by disco soundtrack
and “new” items –
avocado garnish, iced coffee –
attempted to read recent tattoos
on each staff member’s forearms
and failed, unfocused.

Sensing hostility,
Hannah begged to leave.
Outside,
a pungent smoker
with skeletal grin,
sent us scurrying.

Quick search
reveals the Heavenly Café
never reopened
after mass-murder
in 1978.