Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BREAKFAST AT THE WESTERN CAFE, by JIM PETERSON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BREAKFAST AT THE WESTERN CAFE, by                    
First Line: Rain has muddied the river, someone says
Subject(s): Restaurants; Cafes; Diners


Rain has muddied the river, someone says,
and spoiled the fishing for today.
Each day climbs on the back of the last one
like breath after breath getting nowhere.
The waitress at the Western Cafe,
blonde and beautiful and in demand,
turns that river of coffee
at the end of her hand
into cup after cup,
puts down a cinnamon roll
big as a boxing glove,
smiles over her secret frown,
and the long-faced rancher at table number four
will not look at her.
The girl who starts on Monday
sits at the counter all day
to learn the ropes.
For me this is time without encroachment
burning in my belly like a Mexican omelet.
A sign behind the counter says
"T-bone $2.95, with meat $8.75."
An old photo of the Roundup Parade from the Twenties
catches the marching band midstride,
sunlight flashing on the tubas and trombones.
Two guys remember the rumors of fraud --
a small boy creeping under the timbers
and the lazy sloshing of fire.
High on the wall the night-crawling skull of a steer
presides over this clanking of spoons and forks.
Everywhere here hands know their roles by heart,
curling over the edges of news,
drifting over food on grills and tables.
An old man in a small room adds receipts.
Hutterites at a long table behind me --
the strong, suspendered men,
the sackcloth, white-capped women --
laugh at their inside jokes.
Good workers, the waitress whispers,
but they'll steal you blind.
The cattlebrands burned
into wooden plaques above our heads
roam over thousands of sections
on the butts of steers and cows.
The waitress goes home
wrapped in the warmth of her ropes,
chanting their names into her children's ears:
smile, remember the regulars, keep moving,
there's always something needs to be done,
use up every second of your break.
Hearts that know their roles by hand
welcome exhaustion as a kind of peace.
An elk's head wears sunglasses, a white Stetson
and a red bandanna.
The bucked-off cowboy in an old photo
is always flying above that arched back --
glorious black oblivion in the horse's eye.


http://www.wlu.edu/~shenano






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