When The Blues Work Too Well
BB King plays on the stereo, slow, bluesy riffs.
The smell of bacon fills the diner.
Outside, rain begins to fall.
A single tear drifts down your cheek for no reason
you can explain.
You sip your coffee, glad
the diner is empty, that you are the first soul here
and the cook is busy.
as the music breaks loose a logjam
of ancient sadness.
It’s always there.
Even when I laugh. That sadness.
Just under the surface, under the protective coloration
you wear like a fine suit.
Now and then, it leaks.
About this poem
Based on a true story. Most of us have been there, when the sadness leaks out.
The picture was taken in Bennington, Vermont. Yep, everywhere I go, I find a coffee shop.