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Crazy at The Pancake House

I was downtown this morning and drove by the Leaf Nation’s venerable and much cherished Maple Leaf Gardens. 

Reminded me of a poem I wrote on a dreary, wet, Wednesday afternoon in the very late ’90’s. (Published in the Canadian Authors Association POETRY FOR PAINTERS chapbook)

Crazy at The Pancake House

I peer through the steamy window
Of the Golden Griddle Cafe
You know the one
Across from Maple Leaf Gardens
I figured
If I was going to flip
Might as well be in a pancake house

I need
The solace of a cup of black coffee
Quiet  clawing
Dark thoughts fester
You know the ones
Pigs fly, animals talk
People stare
The menu offers service on a platter
So many choices
For pancakes?
Yes, I’ll have the cheddar cheese
With bacon on the top
Side of home fries?
So late in the afternoon
Why not?
Today has no rules
The coffee cup is bottomless
So are my thoughts
I liven them up with doube double maple syrup
No butter please
I’m on a diet
The booth was meant for four
I need every inch of space
To think  to pray  to believe
Crazy at the Pancake House
It’ll save my sanity