Cold Crispy Salads
When I meet Harry for lunch
I try meeting Harry for lunch
at least every other week
I love Harry, and lunch,
he chooses he always chooses
Olympic Diner 807 Eighth Avenue
near 49th Street, where the word Olympic
does not mean games started
in Greece 776 BC. More like
Olympic feat to meet for lunch given
everything else. Harry is
a Western Omlette type, Hamburger
man. Even Chili. He often starts
his mean with Olympic Diner coffee,
milk and Splenda, unlimited refills,
then moves to Yankee Bean Soup,
a favorite. I make wild forays. Yesterday
I thought about a portobello wrap
but Harry said those two words,
both separate and together, caused him to feel ill
and so I reverted to my default position,
cold crispy salad, neither cold nor crispy,
sans chicken.