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The Blue Plate
By
meredith

The Blue Plate

Where the locals go to eat

I've suddenly gotten old
I'm rather set in my ways
But when I go dining out
I'm the one that has to pay.

Some like the one eatery
They claim it's almost heaven
To me that place is not
I just call it Barf Evans.

Another sits on every corner
With arches of gold on site
The food there is terrible
It tastes of ground up tripe.

Other places are mere copies
All over our fine land
The food is always the same
Kind of tasteless and bland

Give me a chrome chair diner
It's nothing you'd call fancy
Where the waitress named Flo
Is always there and sassy.

It's a place the locals go
Where their appetites do sate
We just eat, sit and talk.
While enjoying the Blue Plate

You may walk in there alone
The coffee cup never ends
While sitting at the counter
You're always next to a friend.

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