A Death in a Denny’s


Coffee’s cold

I counted

A fly make its way around 37 times

Before it decided to die in my mug

The waitress messed the order

Wide birthing hips and an attitude towards life


But cowardly

With dark circles under her eyes

And silent

It’s late at night

The man on his stool

Keeps staring

In the alley out back

He’ll kill me

And the coffee’s still cold.

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