wrote this as a passenger driving through some hick area and passed this lil diner that had a front sign with the words all spelled wrong. I didn't stop as I have been permanently scarred--Deliverance. A backwards backwoods diner Crackers crumble into week-old soup, And the waitress’s mumble repeats in a loop. An old man grays while eating his prunes, By the jukebox that plays only three tunes. A counter junkie sits at the end of the row, Where the coffee maker spits out new cups a’Jo. A woman’s frail mustache is covered with grease, While her whale of a husband orders one more piece. It’s just a place to dine on a backwoods route, With an outdoor sign, “Speshals: last weaks soupt.”
