Eucharist at the Diner

Eucharist at the Diner

Ronnie Sirmans

He orders his eggs sunny side up
and then seems in shock when one
of the suns splits and spreads yellow
onto the neighboring hash browns.

“You should have ordered them
scrambled,” I tell him, and he shakes
his head, says, “That’d be too fluffy.
I don’t want clouds. I want the sun,
beaming down, warming me if winds
are as cold as the ice cubes bobbing
in the tranquil depths of my sweet tea
or when things might seem as bitter
as the char on the burned pork chop.”

I remember being inebriated at diners,
but now I must listen to this soberness.
He too spots typos in the menu offering
laminated salvation with its depictions
of ordinary food so blessedly perfect.

“I’ll wait for dessert to surprise me,”
I respond succinctly, and he pauses
while a drop of sun drips off his fork.
So I press on, “Maybe brownie, maybe
ice cream, maybe pie, any old flavor.
Thousands of taste buds will go to work, yet
I can never tell the one finding sweetness first.”
He looks at me, knowledge on the tip of his tongue.

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Ronnie Sirmans
Poet & Journalist

Ronnie is an Atlanta Journal-Constitution digital editor whose poetry has appeared in Sojourners, Fathom, Heart of Flesh, America, and elsewhere.

Photography by Dayanara Nacion