Parole 2003 by C.L. Liedekev

White toast, two eggs, 
chipped ceramic plate. 
Black plate, white chip.
The Diner has 
the town’s name. 
I’m thinking of the
word, “broken”. 
My handshakes as I
pull the cigarette
to my mouth. Warm
smoke, cold air.
My fucks ups follow
the trail back to lime
green tiles in detox, 
arson left on my best jeans,
dried edges of a year
curled under the table.
The room sinches up in
insect rigor and everything
grows as stale as bodily urges.
As the roach, commanding
in its movements
moves across the plate,
down to the floor.
Brown body. White-eyes.
Push the chair in. Stand up.
What’s one more
mistake in the land
of plenty. 

 C.L. Liedekev is a poet/stranger who lives in Conshohocken, PA, with his real name, wife, and children. He attended most of his life in a southern chunk of New Jersey. His work has been published in such places as Humana Obscura, Red Fez, MacQueen's, Hare’s Paw, and River Heron Review, amongst others. His poem, “November Snow. Philadelphia Children’s Hospital,” was a finalist for 2021 Best of the Net.