i'm just a literary tease, my reputation's on its knees.

I am a Poet with a capital P

September 01, 2004

I am also a poet. See?

Dreamy-eyed Waitress

The dreamy-eyed waitress stumbles and falls
Sending the contents of a basket of crunchy goodness
Flying in a slow arc over the bright restaurant.
She just smiles a secret smile,
Brushes the crumbs out of her satin hair,
And sweeps the chips from the floor without a word.

She stares out the window into the bright blue temptation
And her laughter bubbles over like pink champagne
As her hip brushes against the shoulder
Of a man with blue eyes and laugh lines
Creased into his leathered skin.
"Sorry, hun," she says
her exuberance for life an irresistible tonic
& he laughs with her, the smile lighting his eyes a flame.

She forgets the drinks for three different tables,
But her flashing smile smoothes ill feelings
As she laughs and say she doesn't know where her mind has gone.
(I know where it is)

… and when the ravenous vultures devour
enough food to feed three starving children
in less than a minute,
she doesn't mind,
she doesn't mind.

… and when the couple at her next table
stumble over their order, questioning everything
since they're in no hurry,
they've been around for a century,
she doesn't mind,
she doesn't hurry

For the iniquities of the world cannot touch our waitress,
For while her body is here in this Mexican restaurant,
Her mind is a million miles away,
Dancing with visions of coffee beans & silver Hershey's kisses.
Her memories are lost in the feel of hot sand
crunching drily between her toes,
and the roar of the ocean fills her ears.

Moira at 11:56 AM :: Comments (0) :: ::
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