HENRY'S

An annoyingly chipper
waitress
in the early morning
at HENRY’S diner
in the aftermath
of Covid:
she wears a chocolate colored dress and
and a red barrette in her hair
and sends my order to
a gray-haired over-weight cook
of indeterminate gender
as Stevie Wonder
on the radio, sings
“ma Cherie amore.”
Chirpy sir sir sir’s me
half to death
as I search for a newspaper
nowhere found—
the home fries have been done
to death, the
toast slightly burnt;
I eat everything on the plate
before I beat it
out of there,
not responding to the call
of “have a nice day!”
In the street
the birds chirp
too
but sound far better.