The Feeding

When I came upon the diner in the town of Middle-Gate,
I looked up and saw the sign that said, “We’re glad to fill your plate.”
So I buttoned up my pickup truck and went inside to eat,
but I noticed all the employees were whiter than a sheet.

I looked up and saw a Coca-Cola clock high on the wall;
heard the sizzle of the burgers cooking, understood their call.
Then a pony-tailed Carman Diaz came over with her pad,
and beneath a pretty, flour face I recognized cold sad.

What dark secret does this town contain to whiten countenance?
As I thought about it more and more, it didn’t make much sense.
I engaged her in some banter and conveyed a dusty pun,
but she was a snowball out in space beyond the reach of sun.

As she walked away to take my order to the duty cook,
from below I heard a rumble so I leaned aside to look.
It was nothing like I heard before and soon I felt a chill;
when I heard the sound again I found it hard to remain still.

Then the water glass upon the table shook albeit slight;
surface water in a glass is staid, so shaking wasn't right.
This was not an earthquake region in the land of corn and soy;
suddenly my mid-west diner stop began to lose its joy.

Then the rumble turned into a sound like Velcro far away,
an unpleasant tearing, ripping noise--my hands felt cold as clay.
In the diner all the employees were gathered like a team,
and a mid-west diner atmosphere became an air of scream.

A green-shirted gray-haired man upon a red-capped silver stool
who was also white-faced like the rest began to lose his cool.
He jumped up and joined the team like he felt hot grease from the grill,
all the while tearing Velcro from below grew louder still.

Though I felt compelled to leave, my curiosity stayed high;
as a tremor shook my window booth, in fear I wondered why.
I got up to find my pretty pony-tailed Carman-like clone--
I could ambulate but, truth be told, my legs felt like limestone.

Then team diner and the gray-haired man went through a swinging door
like the kind you find in back when you are shopping at the store.
Soon the smell of rancid meat began to make its presence known;
I felt nauseous as another Velcro tearing numbed my bones.

From the back I heard the sound of heaving, splats upon cement;
then the clang of pots and pans, a basement slamming door event.
There were question marks within my eyes, cold perspiration drips;
Carman came back out in shushing posture, finger to her lips.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
April 26, 2014
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