A man (or woman) had a booze overdose on Christmas eve and woke up midnight of 25th or on Boxing Day to find out what we found out already; Christmas day is over and done. But wait, it's Boxing Day so he can still salvage his situation. He picks a fast food joint and goes out to celebrate Christmas.
What if the maitre d' is an old pal who's had a not-so-good experience with our guy? Of course, they recognize each other almost immediately the maitre d' comes to take his order. What if Boxing Day becomes... well, boxing day (like the Mike Tyson kind of boxing)?
Boozed on the eve, slept thro Christmas and awoke on Boxing Day
Feeling like I dug out a tunnel thro Kilimanjaro.
Wished myself a Merry Christmas and got off to celebrate.
I figured I could still catch up on the fun shake up old bones.
I went out and caught a bus and rode 5 miles to port unknown,
Walked in a diner, picked a table with a view of the sea.
The menu was in french, curved like seashells and plated with chrome.
I leafed thro the tome whistling happy tunes and reminiscing
Of the good times I've had and the one I lost and ones to come.
The diner was called The River; the Calabar dish got me gone.
The maitre d' crossed the hardwood floor and spoke. Barely caught his drift.
I tore my eyes off my meal, paid him attention and fell plumb.
Earth stood still at that moment and its only sound was bereft.
I could see we met before, his hard stare was cold and oblong.
"So, we meet again." He didn't have to say it. I felt it
Like I felt what came next; this guy was an inch shy of 7 feet.
He waited tables at a diner till I got his butt fired.
The River's air morphed into a living thing, sentient and dire.
The maitre d' bared his knuckles. "Don't do something you gon' regret,"
I said, getting up to my 7'2". "I don't welsh on a bet."
Akpan
What if the maitre d' is an old pal who's had a not-so-good experience with our guy? Of course, they recognize each other almost immediately the maitre d' comes to take his order. What if Boxing Day becomes... well, boxing day (like the Mike Tyson kind of boxing)?
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| Photo: yogadragonden.blogspot.com |
Feeling like I dug out a tunnel thro Kilimanjaro.
Wished myself a Merry Christmas and got off to celebrate.
I figured I could still catch up on the fun shake up old bones.
I went out and caught a bus and rode 5 miles to port unknown,
Walked in a diner, picked a table with a view of the sea.
The menu was in french, curved like seashells and plated with chrome.
I leafed thro the tome whistling happy tunes and reminiscing
Of the good times I've had and the one I lost and ones to come.
The diner was called The River; the Calabar dish got me gone.
The maitre d' crossed the hardwood floor and spoke. Barely caught his drift.
I tore my eyes off my meal, paid him attention and fell plumb.
Earth stood still at that moment and its only sound was bereft.
I could see we met before, his hard stare was cold and oblong.
"So, we meet again." He didn't have to say it. I felt it
Like I felt what came next; this guy was an inch shy of 7 feet.
He waited tables at a diner till I got his butt fired.
The River's air morphed into a living thing, sentient and dire.
The maitre d' bared his knuckles. "Don't do something you gon' regret,"
I said, getting up to my 7'2". "I don't welsh on a bet."
Akpan
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