Tonight's Poet Corner: The Cold Spoon

The Cold Spoon
by Belinda Roddie

While eating soup
in a greasy spoon,
I watched an old man
gnaw at a hamburger
with nothing but bleeding gums.
The taste of tomato in my mouth
was far too sweet
for my liking, and I drained it
from my quivering tonsils
with warm milk.

The frosty, shivering silhouettes
of truck drivers in their blue booths,
huddled against their
fleece jackets and their
ear-flap hats,
shook me up a bit as I
laid down a very hefty tip
from the leather wallet that napped
in short bursts on the inside of
my tailored black sports coat.

I wrote a brief nibblet of
encouragement on the receipt,
bundled up with a scarf,
and nodded goodbye
to the men with snow in their eyes.