Waffle House

At every Georgia off-ramp Waffle House branded the sign, Promising dimly lit lamps And shredded strips of swine. We refused to drop anchor there, We only drank Starbucks. But for many hours it was rare, Only travelers in cars and trucks. With exhales, we refused to go, The coffee tasted like muck. Despite agony, despite woe Both feared being a shmuck. Four days we cried for beloved espresso So we continued the endless manifesto.