Babe’s Diner

By India Das-Brown

Here is a girl who writes cursive on a napkin,

There’s a space between above and below where the mind is wide and the eyes narrow—

Here a butch lesbian in the tech industry,

Here an American man with a saxophone head,

buhoomu-hoooooooom—

Here a rosy-cheeked fool with clumpy mascara

And Steve is off to Cuba

Rob is beating his meat inside his red Ferrari

Michael is wide-eyed, lock-jawed, and gave Betty 300cc for Christmas—

Oh mister, you beautiful perverted bastard! how I missed you—

How I yearn to be adored by you!

Oh god—

Oh god—

How large is this room, how bright the world outside and how easily the windows shut,

How easily does the saxophone man bend at the waist, snap at the neck and giggle, 

Bronze-faced beside his very very cold headless body—

How easily does Mrs Apple Strudel take herself out of the oven…

Open her very small shriveled mouth…

Close her great big eyes and lie naked on the table…

While Mister Strudel tucks a napkin in his collar,

Smacks his great red lips,

Claps his hands thrice and giggles—

Good golly! that baby’s a dish!