Nashville Diner

Sitting in a Nashville diner,
An old Korean couple served me fried catfish,
I started to cry
It takes me a long time to eat
—especially if I already ate. I sat
there a long time,
until Mama was worried I didn’t like the food

The old man had a catchphrase:
‘how doing?’,
he said it gruffly,
it was a greeting and a farewell.
I wanted him to say it to me

The cook was black,
And most of the customers,
too.
I had a fleeting thought,
was I weeping because all of these people,
so different, were getting along?

No, it was something else
When Mama got out from behind the kitchen,
She went around straightening the condiments,
And tissue dispensers,
little bits of paper,
ripped ends of straw packaging,
She picked them up,
off the floor,
my own mother does it differently

The old man got up from his seat
Behind the till,
Taking gulps from a flagon,
—‘how doing?’
another customer walked in, mama
already ready to serve,
I didn’t try too hard
to hide my tears