-what's to do in '72? / an exposé in pre-cellular time-

to begin, walk inside. 

choose a stool at the counter, and sit on it.

make the necessary physical adjustments.

within a minute, say “Yes” to coffee.

pull the menu from the little nickel-plated rack

where the paper napkin dispenser also resides.
pull a napkin from the heavy dispenser.
use two hands and even then it won't be easy.

(of course it will tear. don't worry, it's an institutional flaw

now commonly accepted as inevitable) open the menu.
choose your breakfast from among the 20 available entries.

tell the waitress who writes things down, then slip

the riven, acetate-covered menu back into its slot.

the coffee's delivered in a thick, utilitarian mug.
create its personality with the specialties of cream and sugar.
take the first sip cautiously, followed quickly by a more

assertive second sip. fidget with the spoon

lying in repose upon the thin paper napkin;

"Geneviéve Odalisque" in stainless steel.
(this is how one considered things within the restless,
empty latitudes of pre-cellular space and time)

readjust yourself on the wobbling stool and

feel free to take another sip.–– look around.

there's nothing more to see. don't linger.

relax. what seems an eternity only seems that way.

avoid tapping your fingertips upon the counter,

more likely than not in a nonsensical beat.

consider those who might be trying to call.

consider them stagnating inside the twine

of wires dipping gracefully between their poles.

inside the diner the naked exposure of self is palpable.

swivel your stool, swivel your head, wish you were dead

and with your plate of breakfast slipped in front of you, eat.