July Poem 27: Welcome to Huddle House: Let’s Eat

Come in and get some of our fresh coffee.

It’s only slightly burnt. Or you could try

A big glass of our famous southern style,—

Damn the diabetes—ice cold, sweet tea.

Thick enough to pour over your pancakes.

You’ll love the sight of an open kitchen.

Say “Hi” to the beltless chef and his crack.

His specialty is four strips of bacon

With bits of fried trash. One piece is rat shit.

And don’t forget to stay for the hearty

Heaps of handpicked and deep fried horses butt holes.

Nothing better than beer and buttermilk

Battered butt holes, Pounded until tender,

Drizzled to dripping in savory sauce.

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