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# Diner
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/diner/
- Published: 2026-08-08T14:23:33.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:06:14.000Z
- Description: “Diner,” fragments of conversation intercepted over pancakes at a roadway diner, written Saturday, August 08, 2026 poem 220 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Three Blokes," by Diana Ludwick © 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Culinary, Current Events, Eating and Drinking, Generational, Humor, Loosely Hinged, Of Place, Poems, Recipes for Life, Short-form Musings, August, Diner, Doughnut, EKG, Gossip, High Summer, Hot Tea, Matzo ball soup, Men, Old Men, Prison, Saturday, Summer, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

As we weigh the benefits   
between pancakes and matzo ball soup  
conversations flow and flutter   
all around us, peak gossip:  
  
“So then I got the EKG”  
a woman with a teased and frosted bob says,   
holding court over her booth.  
Her companions nod, impressed.  
  
  
In the middle of the dinner,   
a trio of older men:  
“So there I was, he shot the guy in the hallway.”  
The two listeners shrug their shoulders in unison  
a universal "what else would you do?" reaction.  
  
  
I settle on the crepe-like pancakes  
while I'm left wondering   
what type of gun fight transpired.  
  
Same guy, the witness to, or perpetrator of a crime,  
five minutes later:  
“For some reason I lose ten years—"  
\[unheard\]  
"—prision."  
  
His table mate, cross-country skiing to a new topic:  
“I’m gonna be eighty in December”  
The third man:  
“Eighty!”  
  
Second man:  
“I read that if you hit eighty,   
your life expectancy expands”  
  
First man:  
“I heard that”  
  
Third man:  
“Max, you’re not gonna make it”  
Max: “You said it”  
  
I cut into my blueberry tall stack  
while I eavesdrop on   
the woman across the way:   
  
“So she was fixing the cage for it,   
and it flew away, and she was sad.  
Said it was like her baby;   
kept her happy. And now, gone”  
  
Gone, girl, and so are we—  
after we pay the bill with twenties,  
grab a dollar-fifty homemade doughnut   
off the counter display  
tinkle the doorbell  
exit into the August heat  
while the hot tea spills and swirls inside.