There’s something about 2am Denny’s,
That I could never put to words,
That could obliviate the worst of the night,
And give you exactly what you deserve,
Like hash browns and eggs to soak up regret,
Or a patty melt devoured without reserve
(that’ll get that taste out of your mouth),
Or just something wholesome for your nerves,
Like a cuppa, or maybe some juice,
For those moments even cigarettes can’t cure.
The food’s not like Mum’s, I’ll concur,
But it’ll do for an emergency,
But she’da died of shame to see us now,
And the diner is always there.
Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Food” as part of their Poetics Series, celebrating the eternal poetic subject of succulent food.