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Postmodern Village
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Home of the Heavenly Pie
by Francine DuBois

Margie takes a long drag from her methol cigarette
Behind the diner. She sighs. Dwane's at it again:
He's taking over the kitchen as he does everytime
He comes home from jail, thinking he knows best.
He's substituting shorting for lard, he's confusing
Baking powder for baking soda, he's not sifting the
Flour first.

Even from back here, she can see the red neon glow
Of the sign Dwane made for her diner back when
He was going to vo-tech, back when they were
Basically kids. Jesus, it was a long time ago.
It still works, more reliable than any of the
High-school kids that work at night.

At night, when she dreams, it's still burned
Into her eyes, that crimson cursive reading
"home of the heavenly pie."

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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