The hot chocolate sipped at Schrafft’s
the nickel’s worth of mac and cheese
at the automat
the bygone watering holes that only linger
in the adipose tissue
My working life coincided with the launch
of a wurst purveyor with kraut or not
and mustards, birch beer and,
upon tap, hell und dunkel
Found about Manhattan, one Zum Zum was
niched in the concourse of the then
Pan Am Building
A steady traffic of business-types came
to be served by dirndl-clad waitresses
in the blond wood setting on the
appealing pewter plates and heavy
glass mugs
Imbibe the pungent crisp of the grilled wurst
skins; the vinegary of the accompanying
potato salad
Before the cell phone and the text message,
patrons were seen doing the Times
crossword puzzle while munching a
baurenwurst, or chatting a server while
nibbling a brat
Zum Zum’s stacked decorative tuns of beer—
this wasn’t a martini drinker’s hidey-hole
Gretchen or Liesl pulled a foamy and it
just washed down the meal
Somehow the freundlich was replaced by
the power lunch, or at the opposite extreme,
fast food
We saw the wurst, and it’s gotten worst