don't go to a Waffle Shop
for a serious
conversation,
i told her,
as we sat down smearing
butter
and syrup
all over our waffles,
steam rising
from the plate,
strips of greasy bacon lying
beside
the golden crates of
baked flour.
but we need to talk about
this,
she insisted.
we can't go on like this.
i wave the waitress down
to top off our
coffee and to bring more
butter and another
bottle of syrup.
eat, i tell, her, eat.
let's have at least one meal
in peace.
tomorrow we'll both get
lawyers, okay?
by the way,
do you want your bacon?
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