Alone at the Diner

by Alarie Tennille

Thinking coffee.
Thinking wheat toast thinly spread
with raspberry jam over a pond of butter.
Thinking two eggs, yolks running away,
corralled by a fence of bacon.
Thinking, “I’m the only customer,”
but feeling you lean across the table.
Knowing you want a taste.

Alarie Tennille was born and raised in Portsmouth, Virginia, with a genius older brother destined for NASA, a ghost, and a yard full of cats. She graduated from the University of Virginia in the first class admitting women. She now lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where she serves on the Emeritus Board of The Writers Place. Her poems have been published in numerous journals, including Southern Women’s Review and Wild Goose Poetry Review.