Over the Clouds, Under the Weather

On the southeast side of town
 a diner filled with tweakers and sleepers
 prom queens and cheap feelers
 slide down into the booth
 dominoes laid out in half-hearted plays
 nobody cares, nobody wins
 while the jukebox changes tunes
 that moment's breach when small conversation
 becomes revelation
 when words become musical overtures
 thoughts composed from negative space
 no one's surprised, no one refrains
 the door is always open
 the service is reliably unconcerned
 off duty policemen looking the other way
 at the waitress with the rose city lips
 earning criminal tips
 dirty dishes get piled high
 the griddle's full with hotcakes and hashbrowns
 busboys making the rounds
 things empty and fill up again
 the door is always open