7857. STRAIGHT LINES, CROOKED EDGINGS

STRAIGHT LINES, 

CROOKED EDGINGS

I went to the gym a cripple, came out 

a whole man? I entered the cemetery

live, came out a dead body? How does

any of this happen to me? Those old

photos of Christmas, they make me 

blanche. As a kid, I was nothing. Now

I'm worse. One time my father took me

to Brooklyn, looking for something to

curse. We found nothing. I said, 'Let's

visit Walt Whitman.' Dad said, 'Who

is that?' Five lanes of traffic and two hours

later we stopped for some food at the

Queen Elizabeth Diner. It used to be on

Route One in  -  yeah, you guessed it  -  

Elizabeth. Not much  of a place, but

airport-busy nonetheless. Roadies and

truckers and traveling men. We ordered

some food. I forget, but he got his first.

It was faster. Mine seemed to take forever.

It finally came : and was worth the wait.

Gold potatoes in a silver-lining sauce. Not

what I ordered, but a good second-course.

We both ate like kings in the Queen that day.