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Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Burnt Toast'd

Tiny metal hands point out 5:31
With an inset black number 4 upon silver background
Seen through a cutout in the navy blue watch face
Magnified by a lens ground into a small part of the crystal
Almost like a drop of water strategically placed
To enhance the wearer's viewing of the date

Franny walked over to my table
And I could feel her footsteps through the scratched surface
Transmitted via the firmly bolted to the floor base
Seemingly driven by a giant fist
Which had cracked the manufactured stone surface
Spidering out from each of the four lag bolts

My view took in the stable view looking down
Tracing the filligree of fissures
Until Franny's feet cradled by her red patent probably not leather mules stepped in
Patiently waiting a tenth of a second before clearing her throat
"What can I get you this morning honey?"

I just looked at her and nodded in an upward thrust of chin
Which had her jotting down a note on her pad
And leaving a steaming cup of coffee behind

Just like ten thousand times before

One creamer followed the first
And a dash of sugar later I scalded my lips
All in time to the opening of the morning paper
The sports section of which declared that baseball was dead
Probably due to their need to have a shocking headline

A whiff of burning toast broought my attention off the page
Piercing the air thick with clinks and clanks
Hushed conversations punctuated by an occasional horse laugh
Esconsed within a three walled glass prison
Framed by aluminum extruded supports

Showing nothing but blackness outside
Illuminated only by the steady cycle buzz and pulse of the red OPEN sign

Franny should be coming with my regular in a minute
That was probably my toast burning
Only to be smothered in butter so it wouldn't bother me much

I always took what Franny gave me with a smile
It's been that way since we were both in kindergarten
Though this is about the only excuse I get to be around her anymore