all you can eat

i rub the fog out

on the glass,

making a small port hole

to stare out

the motel window along

the back

road

of the beach

at the pancake house,

a sign

in the window.

reading, all you can eat.

all day breakfast.

best on the beach 1973.

the line

is short

before the doors open.

i see a truck

pull up

with cauldrons of

batter, drums

of syrup.

pallets of butter

being wheeled in by

sturdy men

with beards.

slabs of bacon on their backs.

beach town weary.

i lift up my shirt to take

measure of my

stomach.

there's room.

let's go.