Burned Pancakes
I could stay here;
Let the years pass,
And serve coffee to the truckers and travelers
As they wander through.
I could go to sleep tonight
And open my eyes tomorrow and discover
10 years have passed me by.
I could let myself become a cliche:
The old lady who serves coffee
At the 24-hour diner on the way out of town,
Who tells tall tales of adventures she never had.
But I don’t want to drench my life
In the scent of burned pancakes,
And watered down coffee,
And workers coming in off the late shift–
Reeking of alcohol, and
Pilfered dreams.