it was okay

when you dated
lucy you used to
meet her exclusively
at a restaurant
called
the rusted fork,
it was mostly an
egg and bacon
joint with juke
boxes on the table
where the faux
leather seats
rounded out like
tractor trailer
bench seats. it was
usually after midnight
when she could get free.
free from what, you
never knew.
cheeseburgers, loaded,
with fries were
on the menu too.
the waitresses wore
pink uniforms and had
to be over sixty
to qualify
to work there. legs
like spindles
on a staircase.
lots of lipstick
and rouge, and tissues
stuck into the tops
of their boney cleavage.
the restaurant
was located
on 301 out near
waldorf, heading towards
north beach,
and the weather
was usually bad.
rain or snow.
ice.
the lights would flicker
on and off
sometimes,
elvis on the juke
singing teddy bear
sounded like he was
under water.
sometimes after eating
she wanted to go make out
in the car, usually hers.
she had to push a basket
of laundry
out of the way,
or cans of motor oil,
her jane fonda exercise
book.
both of you smelled of
onions by that point,
but it didn't matter.
it wasn't going anywhere.
you accepted that.
and when she disappeared
without a word,
you knew that was coming.
it was okay.
everything about her
was okay.