I sit in a seat my father once sat upon
In a small town diner off the green.
I am tasting the coffee as he must have.
My mother would be sitting there too.
They’re smelling the bacon and eggs
as I count sixty years of burned toast.
What I can’t imagine now is how
they let the years pass by.
I wonder, would I have been me?
Would you have been you?
Do you think we would have found each other
in a small town diner off the green?
When I die and if I go to heaven
is it ok if it’s 1962?
©️Mark W. Ó Brien
28June2022
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