Schrödinger’s Restaurant

Squeezed five tight onto a Córdoba leatherette
Banquet, the one who never says “always:”
Memory’s lost in the pantry. Yet when you sell a story,
Instead of that pinstripe suit
There’s a T-shirt forever holding up a
Thumb print pointed right “I’m with stupid.”
Simultaneously towards me and you
Never together and always on top.

A broken, static nonelectromagnetic
Compass of neurotic eye brightening
Mouth watering bites.
Share my fish of the everyday special.
It’s a big enough red herring to eat now and never.
The free beverages flow but forever
Into a pool of ice a melted puffin pastry.
Tricky things, so inviting
Yet so biting you hear them thinking
“So this hairless jailor wears a suit
But no tuxedoes found uptown.”
Your rainbow nose bird
Smoked her way across town
Marlene Dietrich of the Bronx zoo.

Slippery slopes on open toast slathered
By some noxious fruits and fragrant curds.

Congratulations, you’ve made yourself breakfast today.
Let us eat then, you and I
Let us wilt upon the sky a leave of grass
Green before the tornadoes. But just suppose this time
You wear something resembling clothes.
It’s absolutely forbidden to bring a lab coat and
An appetite whetted on spittle griddle cakes.
Fashionably stressed
Your breakfasts served in bed
Where eating by fading light of winter days
Laughing at you for getting up at lunchtime,
Breakfast mistaken for the wrong meal.
Blonde diner car broad
She’s such a dish penning an order and turning on a heel,
Suddenly slipping on a banana peel.
How slapstick made you laugh.

Let’s call it a short semantic service for the guilty
Pleasures of brunch. Eat of gratitude instead
Since sincerity is beyond my gastronomic experience.
A trifle falls apart in a box
The berries tumble like Jill and Jill
From a hill of yellow sponge.

You won’t find me
But you can always see me
I’m spinning plates at
Schrödinger’s Restaurant
Where food arrives and then doesn’t.
Cats black run out the front gate
Arriving white at the back swinging gates.

Finish eating peacefully, with love your wife and not wife.
Her note scratched on the back of a non payable check:
Make sure to do the mopping up of everything on your plate,
With white toast, or with nothing but your tongue.
No ones looking at you anymore
Anachronisms come built with a kill switch.
Schrödinger typed the menu in mimeograph blue
And we lift our morning quiz up to light our eyes
With the power of copies, copies, copies,
Enough copies.