Greasy Spoon

let's go for breakfast,
she says, stretching her arms
and legs,
what's
the nearest greasy spoon
around here.
I need
some eggs, potatoes,
bacon right
off the flat splattering
grill.
hmmm.
let me think for a minute,
I tell her
sipping on the first
cup of
coffee
this early morning
in a blistering heat wave.
I got it,
I tell her, I know
just the place.
and you can smoke
in there too if they
haven't yet changed
the rules.
it's the greasiest place
in town,
eat at the bar or
in a red vinyl booth.
parking right out front
in the gravel lot,
juke box too.
sounds lovely, she says.
let's go.
what's it called?
Moe's, I tell her. Moe's.