Not for Public Consumption

The vinyl is cracked and the coffee is burnt

and there are lessons in here I wish I hadn't learnt.

The man in the booth has a suit and a tie

and a look in his eye like he’s ready to die.

He leaned to his friend and he breathed it real low,

"I’m living in the Buick, but don't let her know."

Then he picked up a spoon to check on his face

as if a little more shine could hide the disgrace.

His fingers were shaking while he smoothed out the silk,

stirring his sugar into the gray milk.

I stared at my toast and I swallowed the sound

of a man trying hard not to hit the ground.