Tag Archives: waitress

February

Wearing out my welcome, again.

The night is cold and vast, like the

Sahara or the Antarctica, it is

impossible to fill.

 

Outside the bar, belly full,

heart empty, I try to think

of a place to run to, any escape,

anyone who would receive me.

 

I can’t stand the cold, the night,

my apartment, my exhausted heart.

It is February, and it is its own night,

and it is just as endless and unfillable.

 

Self-medicate with Sad Bastard music

on the way home, or with ghost stories

on an audiobook, marking time until

all is quiet, and I have to live with my ache.

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Alice

Talking to Alice as she smokes outside the restaurant

where she works as a waitress, in a hokey red and pleated

uniform, some salt-of-the-earth and down home nonsense.

The smoke stinks, and I know it’ll stick to my clothes,

and I’ll smell it on the ride back home afterwards,

but it’s worth it, to be near here, to fell a closeness in winter.

Alice is like me, close to forty, not where we want to be,

so we tell off-color jokes and talk about how the war

ruined it all, and how children are the cruelest mistakes.

Her shift starts in a few minutes, and she’ll go in, and so will I,

and she’ll get to work, and I’ll eat the heavy, greasy food here,

just because I got to steal a few minutes with her.

With someone who knows it’s all going to burn.

Floofy Pom Pom

I ordered a knitted beanie for a waitress.

Floofy pom pom. Black with white snowflakes.

Silly, I’m sure. She’ll never fall in love with me.

But her smiles, her kind words, my soul partakes.

So cold, and it’s starting to snow, flashes in the night.

Hot coffee, and chili, and nervous, fluttering butterflies.

She’ll be on shift soon, and this shit day has made me eager

to see her happy face, to see her when I give her her surprise.

Living alone, all to myself, I want to give a friend a gift.

It’s cold this winter. Give her something she needs in this cold age.

I see her coming in the door. I look down, heart pounding.

I’m just an errand boy, the knight of romance’s  errant page

White on White

White on white of her

under shirt and t-shirt

and she absently wipes

down the tables, end of shift.

Too worn black pants,

and spiky black hair,

pixie cut growing out again,

sighing of the growing rift.

The simple little diner

is too garish white against

the black of the cold winter night.

Too sleep again is the gift.

I put sickly green bills on the table,

and she smiles, her brown eyes shining.

At the door I watch her, white on white,

as my girlfriend comes to give me a lift.

 

Dynamo

The winter is early this year.

Flakes of snow fall,
Shed from angel’s wings.
Their breath so cold
Chases away the day,
And bring dreams of her.
The bar is warm, loud, dim.
She welcomes me from the cold.
Her heart is a dynamo
Lighting up the stars.
Her eyes we’re plucked
To make the moon
And the sun.
Harmless flirtation.
Her sweetness, kindness,
Touches and smiles free
Like the snow falling.
Snow covers the filth in white.
Snow let’s me sleep quietly.
Alone in my room, one last beer,
And then dreams of light
That her hearts threads through me,
The stars orbiting her head, a crown.
Dream of her dynamo heart beating
With all the light god ever gave us.
Dedicated to RLP