Poem: Driving for a Diner

Driving for a Diner

By Paisley Hibou
QuailBellMagazine.com

All we wanted was a waffle drenched in powdered sugar and fake syrup,
or a burger sitting in a puddle of grease on a '70s ceramic plate with frogs.
We weren't looking for high-class platters, just “Redneck Woman” grub.
No, I can't swig that sweet Champagne, I'd rather drink beer all night.
But Great Falls is not the land of midnight meals and five-dollar deals,
so we hopped into the car and tricked ourselves into a trip to Tysons.

Some people look down on me, but I don't give a rip.

We didn't want a Silver Diner-IHOP-Denny's-mass-produced diner.
We wanted the diners of Route 1, where waitresses wear hairpieces and
paint on moles, calling you names like “biscuit sunshine baby doll pie”
like that's a real thing, as they pour you more sweet tea or dishwater coffee.
We wanted beaten-up booths where hookers give truckers blowjobs
before the hushpuppies get too cold,
and sticky floors with ugly tiles
and bathrooms with broken mirrors
and crass writing on the wall.

Well, you might think I'm trashy, a little too hardcore/
But in my neck of the woods I'm just the girl next door

We drove all the way to Leesburg, these two hungry girls,
disappointed to see that everything was closed,
except for the McD's in Sterling
where a woman lived in her car.
Maybe she was waiting for a late-night diner to open
and she wasn't going to leave her car 'til one did.
It'll be a long wait still, lady, but at least you're saving on NOVA rent.