3.48

February 5, 2017

She tried to sell me on a $9 salad bar when all I needed

was a bowl of the 4-Star’s finest

 

yankee bean soup to fill me up enough so I could

pack a pint of Blue Moon––only one ‘cause

 

I’m a not-so-proud member of the “Lightweight Club”

seated at the head of the “Cheap Date Table.”

 

And the bowl the waitress brought me was the biggest

bowl of anything I’d ever shipwrecked

 

my sight on. But our conversation was tight-lipped

and very Union City. I hope this bowl won’t

 

break my bank, I muttered. Drinks ain’t cheap in a cold

dollar dynasty, and I’m just praying some things––

 

the starlight cosmos, soup at the 4-Star Diner, happy hour

at the Park Tavern––are still constant as the grave.

 

Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.

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