Yea, there shall the night hag alight
and find for herself a resting place
          Isaiah 34:14, overseen in a pocket edition

Out for dinner,
and the lettuce
is scraped off the grill.

Stella swears Good help cannot be found
and the short order cook, irritated with HELP WANTED signs
clutches his blade, continues to chop onions in the homefries.

Don’t sit there and the old couple
walk carefully between table.

Coffee steams, Not in my place you don’t, Stella
talking nightly visions, swirls beyond smoke
pushing around table legs,

legs. Waiting is the hardest part a general consuls
rumbling spoon tanks towards Stella. She laughs,
wipes sugar snow, catchup bodies from the counter.

I was a space whore her voice continues
refilling my cup. Eggs over easy she repeats, breakfast all day.

I watch her blouse;
a vision of weightless existence sways.