I wanted a counter to sit at

This poem dates back to 1997, when I had been living in the US for 2 years. I was feeling lost, and desperately wanted to belong. I’d gone to a local Farmer’s Market, which had a diner-style counter, and I tucked myself in for the duration. Armed with my ever-present notebook, I was listening intently as other patrons came and went around me. As they’d casually catch up on life with the waitress, they’d somehow slip in an order for their usual, in a shorthand exchange that was inaccessible and yet strangely beguiling to me. I pictured myself not standing out like a sore thumb, which I very much did.

I wanted a counter to sit at  

I wanted a counter to sit at
Like in the movies, like on TV
I wanted to say “damn fine coffee”
Over, and over again
“Eggs over easy,” “sunny side up”
Both fall so easily from my lips
I don’t really understand either of them

I wanted a counter to sit at
Next to someone who hadn’t washed
I wanted to hear their mutterings
That they know who shot JFK
“Six sugars, missy … but don’t go stirring it!”
“Don’t you know I don’t like it too sweet!”

I wanted a counter to sit at
A place to watch the world go by
I wanted to see, but not be seen
Listen, but not be heard
Life passing me by in the fast lane
I wanted to sit this one out
 

© Robert Ford 1997