a diner, a nighthawk
style diner
in town that we used to go
to after
carousing
until
the bars closed down.
they kept
a white bucket
of pancake batter
beneath
the counter
which they raised
to pour onto the griddle.
the cook in his grey apron,
once white
killed bugs with his
spatula.
the place
smelled of bacon grease
and stale
coffee, soured
mops.
the bathrooms,
unmarked, had
an inch of yellowed
water on the tile,
but it was open all night
and
we were that
hungry.
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