Breakfast At Babe's
I saw a waitress sitting on a table,
sewing a customer's order
on his blue tie with red thread.
The smell of thick-sliced bacon and coffee
permeated the dimly lit room.
In another corner of the cafe a dominatrix
in full regalia sat in a booth, her left leg resting
on the seat on the other side of her table.
Her injured knee had a large bag of ice on it.
She gulped a double shot of bourbon and ordered
the piano player to sing for another. Instead
he used a stage whisper and the bartender
smiled like an ancient tortoise as he reached
for a clean glass.
Tom Russell became interested in poetry in 1981. Before that, he thought all the poets were dead. He took a 30-year coffee break from writing in 1984.