Pancake House 1971
(in memory of Millicent June King)
Warm syrup trailed
veins of knotted wood,
dim bulbs lit
the bellhop’s sly shadow
on tobacco worn yellow
shades of the backdoor,
grease popped
anxiously from iron pans,
and Grandmother balanced
round trays across the floor
toward three shots
that rang red
in the quietness
of morning.
Shawn R. Jones
Reprinted from Womb Rain
(Finishing Line Press, 2008)