Bumping your head on a thick plastic Tiffany lamp
You ask the waitress to pull the bench seat out-
Its torn in the middle.
Nesty layers of crumby cotton stuffing leak out,
A basketball team mascot knifed in the back.
You sit down but don't open the menu,
A goblet of neon blue syrup arrives,
you let the straw paper fall to the floor.
Under your table crayons, sized Kids, break underfoot,
making waxy rainbows on the soles of your shoes
as you make as many trips to the soup and salad bar.
You check your reflection in the sneeze-guard
and transport the dab of Ranch on your chin
to your tongue.
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