Waiting for Hoffmann’s 7:30 call

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

Offenbach let me out for dinner,
and the lettuce
is scraped quickly off the grill.

Lilith swears Good help cannot be found
and the short order cook, irritated with the HELP WANTED sign
clutches his blade, continues to chop onions into the home fries.

Don’t sit there and an aging Olympia
walks mechanically between tables.

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

legs. Waiting is the hardest part a general, acting as a pompous councillor,
rumbles spoon tanks towards Lilith. She laughs,
wipes sugar snow, catchup blood 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 share
visions of a weightless existence.