From the Edge
Why am I here in the shadows? I stare
At ordinary people in an ordinary scene,
In an ordinary diner, under artificial glare.
A dame in a red dress sporting light auburn hair,
A guy in a derby looking awfully mean,
Why am I here in the shadows, to stare?
The nighthawk sits, seldom a word to share,
A barman in white being so terribly keen,
In an ordinary diner under artificial glare.
A diner designed to swallow all cares,
No ornamentation, bright surfaces clean,
So why am I here in the shadows, I stare?
Her shoulder dips, her fingers declare
That she’s sweet on him, or so it would seem
To this ordinary diner’s artificial glare.
It’s hard to make out they’re having an affair
Particularly now, they know they’ve been seen.
So, why should I care, in this shadow nightmare,
Some ordinary diner under artificial glare?