Diner Days 


At times when my mind wanders and
Imagination strays
I think back to that time that I
Recall as "diner days".

There's something to a diner that
Defines it as unique. 
It is not for the faint of heart,
The nervous or the weak.

A diner has a flavor and
A laid-back atmosphere.
There's something in the air that says
"All friends are welcome here".

The eggs are always smokin',
Bacon sizzles on the grill
And coffee don't stop pourin'
'Till the drinker's had his fill.

It's the home of red-eye gravy
And grits and rhubarb pies
Where steaks are always cook well-done
And all things come with fries.

The waitresses wear bluejeans with
Their hair tied in a bun.
Their average weight's 235
And everybody's "Hon".

There's country on the juke box
And menus on the walls.
The bathrooms all have jokes and numbers
Written in the stalls.

Don't gripe at any waitress
Or you've got no 'diner class'.
Just take a rag and wipe off
Any lipstick on your glass.

Old-timers sit in back booths.
They commit the perfect crime
BY sipping on their coffee all
Night long, just killing time.

The truckers going somewhere
And the broken dreamers, not -
All drink the same black coffee pouring
From the diner pot.

A diner's not a place to eat.
A diner is a town.
A diner is a way of life
That never lets you down.

My life has since moved uptown as
The years passed in a blur.
I frequent now the restaurants
Where waiters call me Sir.

But still my thoughts race back to
Those days when life was fun
And I'd trade the "Sirs" and "Madames" for
A smiling "Hiya, Hon!".