Nostalgic Scent-A-Meant Poem by Christine K. Trease

Decorator fans work the hot thick air.
Sweating waitresses with drooping locks
rush from table to table with food piled trays.
Patrons lazily read the paper or sip cups
of coffee as they patiently wait.
They will leave tips, for the waitress have
no hopes of getting a raise.
The smell of grape jelly toast fills my mind,
eggs, potatoes and bacon on the side.
If I close my eyes, I can still smell it,
ah...bacon cooked to a crisp with hash browns
and eggs greasily fried.
It was a ritualistic occurrence,
in which families participated each day.
Sometimes even a salesmen or a stranger
passing though,
stopped at the Greasy Spoon Cafe.