The Only Game in Town

Bright light café in the quiet prairie night
a girl, mother in the window
holds a frail worn gentle hand to the glass
speaking soothingly to her son
asleep out in the night
out beneath the headlight stars

The booths arranged in crooked rows
can’t claim comfort
their occupants look down at half-eaten plates
smack their teeth and wonder
at the knife
at the wiped-down surface of their souls

A man alone cracks his hands like a pack of cards
constantly shuffling
constantly moving about in the dark corners
where someone let in the night
he orders a single scoop of plain vanilla
lets his spoon down when he’s done
picks up the deck unhurriedly

The waitress moves unhurriedly
to the tired patrons of a café at night
she slides on the silky carpet of stains
tip-toe between the stains
bleeding wine on the tables
that streak as she tries to wipe them clean

The mother, girl takes her hand from the window
resigns to this new circumstance
rises slowly to her feet toward the out of order cash register
the tickets impaled are old
she lays down her money to no one
a couple extra tips or two
and walks out through the cold black door into the emptiness beyond
the starless forgotten waste.