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I didn’t like it when
My father took me with him
For lunch at Compton’s Cafeteria
On Market and Van Ness
In San Francisco
It wasn’t the food, which was
OK
But the old folks
The cook was fat and bald
And there was no waitress
The bus boy was old
And not a boy at all
And the people who came there
To eat
Were retired people
On low incomes
With death warrants for eyes
Dabbing at their turkey chins
With crumpled paper napkins
Looking like pallbearers
Back from a funeral