Again a Stranger

This is what you do,
wander
from place to place,
diner to diner,
staying just long enough
to feel at home,
to become part of the woodwork
until the doors close
and you are again
a stranger.

About this poem.

I have a thing for diners and coffee shops. When I travel for work, I make them my office, but they are always changing depending on what city I am visiting. Here locally, there are not many places that stay open long, and I migrate from place to place, becoming a regular a while, then when that one closes down, becomeing a stranger again. It’s an odd cycle for someone who loves stability.

Tom