7 AM at a diner in Nashville


A diner where I ordered breakfast,
Looking at all the faces,
Truckers to yuppies,
And here the egg doesn’t ask,
Whether you wear a tie or overalls,
Only what your likes are, in food.
And you become humanized
All of a sudden,
How every kite in the skyline,
Has the same skin, paper.
And all they are, are colored papers,
Almost like our skin colors,
White, brown, olive, black and so forth,
People who look at a menu card,
And unify to a bulls-eye, sunny side up,
And below, on the underside,
Of the egg, you get the grease,
Stocks of cholesterol,
Just like how our worst qualities,
Are hidden beneath our façades,
Sunny-side up is a salesman,
Just like a bulls-eye, selling a smiley face,
Happiness, skin-deep.