American Diner Doors Open – Poem

American Diner Doors Open and photograph by: Erickson

Helter-skelter stainless-steel smears
Upon a bopped-open butter bin.
Maybe maple
But frustrated fructose syrup
Spits on signs,
Gashes its gallops on paneled oak cabinets.
—Across the street?—
Bright Groceries.
Oranges popping, looking at you like oversized eyeballs 
Under prices and lettering in bold.
Prices in bold.
—The street?—
Long roads
Littered with signs designed for the American eye.
Selling fried chicken sandwiches, selling burning pocket coffee,
Selling selling, and selling buying —
“please swallow” —
heart pumping — dopamine detention lifted with your pocketbook.

You pay. Enter your quiet car. Breathe. And drive home. 

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