hotel breakfast III

the pina colada songs plays
as the table of russians
toast an entire loaf of bread
for the two of them
a stooped old man
in a long black robe
surveys the room
searching for something
the sadness in his eyes
tells me he will not find
amidst the
bacon and sausage laden plates while the serving lady
makes small talk
remembers every face
just enough details
to make it quasi feel
like a small cafe
instead of another orafice
of the creature
that grinds souls
into gray paste
before sending them
back out
into a world
that neither cares
nor notices
the full bellies
and vacant eyes
a beautiful woman
walks serenely with a docile boy
while her
haggard looking husband
drags a near feral girl
the brown sugar
turns liquid
on the surface
of my oatmeal
as dried blueberries
into the quagmire
of bloated oats
the lothario
with slight balding
orders two of everything
unsure what
his still sleeping conquest
will desire
but the wink
as he explains it to me
says exactly
what he hopes fors
unsunnyside eggs
glare angrily at me
as i watch them all
too many stories
dance across the room
of sleepy faces

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