diner lingo

6/12/2010

 
dear you, who used to sit at table #23,

monday/special: reuben with a side of licorice sticks/soup: bone button borchst

the architect came in today. oh, does he drink coffee. i bring it to the table in crystal punch bowls.

remember when the power went out and i was serving that table of 10 who promised me a huge tip, my very own banana tree, if only i would bring them their order? 

the architect built us an electrical plant out of eggs over easy.  as soon as we scratched them with forks. light. banana splits on the house.

tuesday/special: organic pancakes straight from the aerosol can/soup: coconut peanut butter

all sentences directed towards me contained 0 grams of sugar.  spit in many tapiocas.  went home and laid on  leftover napkins. 

is it difficult to walk when you have to move yourself and the person clinging to you? you’re married. i’m sure you know. maybe i’d be a natural.  i can carry three plates and two sodas at once. as long as the soda is diet.

wednesday/special: tootsie rolls/soup: tootsie rolls microwaved in a bowl

we ran out of everything but tootsie rolls.  it’s not a big deal. people are used to accepting tootsie rolls in lieu of better things.  we learn to do it at a very young age. usually at parades or halloween.

we’ll have everything again tomorrow, except a few things.  you, for example, have been on the 86 list for 120 days now. it’s a record.

thursday/special: meatloaf of the gods /soup: daddy’s whisker soup

this will be the last one for now. these waitress pads are small. summer is looking straight at me and promising to take me to the beach once my shift is over. his car is the color of cherries. it is hard not to take a big bite.

your pie is still waiting for you,

maura

.at least there are prizes.

4/2/2010

 
c.,

i’m writing this while leaning against a streetlight, 
looking like a lost cat poster.

i’ve been here a long time. there are prizes 
from the machine in my pocket.

you’re probably pissed. join the crowd waiting 
for me in the parking lot.

dirt like me has no choice but to give you everything 
should you find your roots buried.

when someone grabs a pizza, everyone picks off what they don’t want.  but no one can grab some toxin out of the ground and feed it to a dog with his fingers.

you are covered by dirt. i wouldn’t necessarily call that holding.

i am going to step back from the picture. or the water. 
and look down.

a.

abbie

3/27/2010

 
Abbie Birthday,

I am trying so hard to write good letters that my blisters have turned to diamonds.  I am going to get fired for practicing my spacing and kerning on my break instead of smoking like we’re supposed to.

The weather is still bad. All this wind from China or Wal Mart or Beyonce’s latest perfume.  It’s like living inside of a bloody yolk in a garbage can. It’s been making me cough gold dust, which pays for all this postage. The diamonds don’t cut it because of the way they are shaped. I’ve only ever gotten a few pounds of bees out of them.

Did you get the toast I neatly folded into the envelope? Eat when it’s your morning and my night. We’ll make an afternoon of it.

I know this isn’t going to work. But I went ahead and measured the distance between us anyway.  I did it with whales and covered them in cement so the tides don’t mess up my precise measurements.

You’re going to sell my letters back to the post office aren’t you? Or to Lady Foot Locker. They’ll stuff my letters into all the sad Nikes on the clearance rack.

I know what I like. I like speaking French and laying on my back in diner booths. But I feel like no one ever wants to tell me what they like. They just want someone to split the wine with.

I am putting this letter and all the ones you should’ve written in the compost pile. Let them be beets. Let them be half organic beet and half conventional parsnip. That’s probably all they wanted to be in the first place.

The worms will hold them. Worms have a thousand tiny arms and a great sense of humor.

You can’t imagine how ugly I am in person but I know you’ve tried.

Chris Anthemum