For years running,
On the first day of a new elementary school year,
My son and I would eat here.

The old men in the cafe
Would kid the waitresses
Who waited on them ever day
(Except Sundays).

Eating eggs, pancakes and toast,
Sausage, ham, bacon and grits.

My son loved this place,
But we stopped coming when he hit middle school
Which was far away in another direction.

Before he graduated from high school, though,
We came back one last time.

The food was the same,
But a few of the old men weren’t there any more.

This is a good place
Not a great place
Except that we may have had great times here:

We shouldn’t idolize the past,
Which had its flaws;

We also shouldn’t despise the past,
Because in despising the past,
We despise part of ourselves.

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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