Thursday, July 6, 2017

Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper (1942)



The downtown streets were empty and dark
Twelve thirty on a Saturday night
Joe’s Diner was brightly lit but stark
A refuge for nighthawks in flight

Three customers lingered at this late hour
A lone man, a middle-aged pair
The woman and man looked brittle and dour
Her scarlet red dress matched with her hair

The couple were there from the late late show
They’d seen Joan Fontaine at the Strand
The woman’s tears still continued to flow
The man found it hard to withstand

The diner was near the end of their date
But neither could find much to say
She picked at her food but she barely ate
They had waited long weeks for this day

The stranger watched the two from afar
His wife had died five years before
He knew what grief and loneliness are
Just staying alive was a chore

The counterman offered them cherry pie
He hoped that they’d leave, then he’d close
The man just shook his head with a sigh
The woman was immersed in her woes

They’d been married for thirteen up and down years
But now they’d been six months apart
Being together renewed all their fears
Both knew they could never restart

Joe’s Diner was a suitable place to end
It symbolized their loss and their plight
There might come a time when they could be a friend
But for now these hawks vanished in the night



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