Noir Morning

The night shift has ended.
Grey dawn is reddening into pink.
I stand in the parking lot
as West winds bring the smell of
tropical spices from some foreign shore.

I light a cigarette, watching the sky
smelling the bay, listening to
the Palms tell me some things.
Somebody walks by with coffee
and now I am off to the early morning Diner.

I am tired and wonder how long
I can keep up this pace, when I
see the waitress smile and I forget
all that and just watch her move,
thinking of ballet, hearing the music in my head.

I am not sure whose movie I
am in, hers or mine, but it all
feels like that; your life being
narrated by someone else and
I step out for a smoke before the eggs come
and listen to the Palms tell me it’s all okay.