Waffle House Poem
aka Saying Goodbye to Hydrocodone
I.
lord lord lord
please help me get away from this sun.
take me to Waffle House,
open when everyone else is closed, like how god is supposed to be, i think.
(it hurts to do this to you)
come on in, honey, you’re okay.
take a seat, i’ll make you some hashbrowns.
i’m gonna call you Salem. you a witch, baby.
II.
give me those syrup sticky menus and the quiet
quiet quiet of a gravel parking lot when neither of us knows what words to use to interrupt the silence.
what even are grits, anyway?
(i’ll try not to forget you)
don’t worry about it, baby, we got you.
we got you we got you
you a witch, baby, remember?
III.
why do they have a jukebox here?
i know a guy who was thrown behind one once, then beer flooded the electrical socket and he died.
i wonder how many people have died in places like this.
(i don’t think i want to see you again)
oh honey, don’t cry. you’re okay.
nothing bad is gonna happen.
nothing bad happens here.