Rose’s Diner

When Rose’s Diner closed 
It wasn’t banner news;
The smell of coffee, clinking cups
Moved past any reviews
And into realms of memory.
Once I here, with my boy
Would sit and laugh of mornings
In our unknowing joy;
But life tears down what it builds up,
The tiny ways that we’re bereft:
A 1914 building, blank,
Is all of Rose’s Diner

Left

Published by

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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