Out of Gas on Route 66

Neon tubes ignite
wet-rag mopped counters
covered with condiments
and spring loaded napkins,
all dented and dully shining,
unevenly reflecting
faces from far corner tables
surrounded by vinyl booths
padded for customer comfort.
Greasy meat menus covered with gravy
from breakfast buiscuits,
now lodged in old mens intestines,
lie laminated near sizzling fry cook's 
spatula, wandering over griddles 
full of greasy meat menu items,
from all those greasy meat menus
I mentioned before.
     Coffee... And three cigarettes
Your death does not make me hungry this morning
as smoke moves towards the sun.