after James Tate
The wind was blowing so hard that it closed
the car door. A tan man with sandy hair
walked toward me from over by the
air pump, said he ran out of gas a couple of
miles back, and did I by any chance have
some spare change. I have a lot of change, too
much change. Glad to get rid of some of it,
I also gave him a stick of gum and a tampon.
He said, “God bless you,” and I needed it.
Inside, the diner was serving breakfast,
lunch and dinner. A seeing-eye dog sat next
to a man reading the paper who was in the
middle of ordering “the usual.” The waitress,
patting her apron pockets with her free hand,
finally finding her pen said “Ok, Stan.
But tomorrow you gotta promise me
you’ll try the chef’s scramble.” “Ok Lilly,
tomorrow, I’ll promise you.” A blind woman
tap tapped her way along between the booths
and out the front door, where she mounted
a blue seahorse and moved away in that
underwater way that only a seahorse can.