Lord of the diner, enormous
in white, he strides his domain.
Five feet up, five feet down
and two across.
There's smoke from the grill and the smell of coffee.
No one, hungry at six p.m. and in a hurry, argues about his order.
“You said no mayo!"
The subdued subject sucumbs.
Eat up, you.”
It’s a small kingdom,
but all his.
Later, swaying
after midnight on the subway strap
he dreams of another place,
Connecticut, maybe larger.