I don’t remember the name of the place
but twenty-five years ago they had the best fries,
seasoned, thick, and just-right greasy.
A Friday night back then: crowds swirling
up to the counter and past the tables,
laughing, squeezing in four to a bench,
the noise astounding, the smell encompassing.
There I am, at a table for two,
except someone asked to borrow the other chair
so now it’s me and my book and my fries.
And I’m okay with that. Or rather, in this memory
I’m okay with that; but as my mind turns backI wonder, a little, how okay I was then.
~ Tamary Shoemaker
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem about a food establishment.)