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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