6 at Joey D's Donut Shoppe:

&  
I'm
Bent over black coffee
At the long counter;
Sweet crisp dough
Displayed in glass cases
All so presentably;
Generic cigarettes in a green menthol pack
Crumbled and crushed on the counter
Nearby & the a.m. edition in the newspaper rack -
Serve to make the morning all too real.

Someday
I'll chase hemispheres
& watch them run; I’ll
Leave this citified life here
& buy a house in the burbs
Or in the country, maybe.
Yes, all this urban strife
I suffer day-in, day-out,
Associated with being afraid
Of the mailman, the landlord
And the man on the corner
Will leave and I’ll be there,
Not here, at Joey D.’s
On the near West Side
As the rest of the city slumbers.

So I wait for the sunrise
Like 7 thousand mornings before,
Right here at Joey D.’s & I want to see the sun rise
Over the near west side. . . .
An old man in an old, tweed suit,
                talks about an Italian lady
                he knew in the Second World War;
A paranoid pariah using Joey D's
               coffee and sugar as narcotics;
& an oatmeal-honey-brown girl
               shivering in the corner booth –
They’re all here. My humanity, my family.
The marquis blinks on & off, on & off –
Donuts with holes inside. The sign
Dims with the breaking dawn in glowing
                blue, yellow & green ovals.

-- Samuel Vargo