at the diner

he's a large man
sitting at the diner.
red suspenders hold
up his high waisted pants.
he's placed a napkin
into the collar of his shirt.
it's a blue color.
pale
and soft like his eyes.
the plates
surround him at the table.
pancakes
with butter and syrup.
eggs over easy.
bacon, sausage, toast.
purple packs of jam.
his hands
touch a knife and fork,
then he sighs.
he can't decide
which way to go.
he sips his coffee.
slipping his
finger into the small
circle of the white
cup. he stares out the window
at the morning traffic
rushing by.
they know him well.
call him by name.
they approach him with
their hands
on their aproned hips
and ask if everything
is okay.
he nods. it's fine, he says
smiling as best he can.
it's all good.
just some trouble
at home.