I relish the quiet,
The lonely quiet,
The persistent,
Insistent,
Beneficent
Quiet.
An infrequent guest,
This exceptional quiet.
A novelty,
An innovation,
A comprehensively new creation.
To what do I owe this
Unexpected visit
My sweet and silent visitor?
More often than not
Do you make yourself scarce.
I long for the quietude,
The soundless,
The stillness,
The taming of tongues,
The zipping of lips.
It's an impossible request,
Especially at home.
But for now,
I'll savor the silence,
Partake in the peace.
For in this nugget of time
My family has left,
And I am left
In the solace of solitude.

I hate and love this place.
I hate the long line of people I have to serve,
filled with naggy mothers,
bleached, fried hair,
silicone bodies the color of bacon.
I hate the heavy ache in my feet,
sign of a long shift,
having to serve food to thankless patrons.
I hate how the juicy, salty burgers taste so good,
adding unwanted lumps and bumps.
Grease sizzling, popping in the air,
Sticking to your skin, permeating your hair.

And yet,

I love the sound of Denis's voice breaking through the blanket of shrieks,
telling me hello in his clipped English.
I love the sizzling of traitorous patties on the grill,
looking for love in someone's stomach.
I love the constant banter between Thomas and me.
I always let him win.
I love seeing the cute, scruffy arcade repairman as he comes to my register
waiting for me to offer a free icee.
He always pays for it anyway.

This place annoys me all the time,
the screams of children, the lack of tips, the way my skin peels off from my fingers,
an ugly result of having to wash my hands every 5 minutes.
And yet, I love it.
Every inch,
the good and the bad.
All of it.

I like to think I'm patient.
I like to think I'm kind.
But let me tell you of something
That really chaps my behind.

See, I kinda like this guy,
I haven't known him very long.
Yet I'm incredibly drawn to him.
So far, nothing wrong.

I'd like to get to know him better.
We're good acquaintances, at best.
Friendly hugs, friendly talk,
I'm sure you can figure out the rest.

Yet there's a simple social skill
That he sadly seems to lack.
Please, when I send a cordial text,
******* TEXT ME BACK.
:)

I'm sorry.
I promise I'm not this dense in real life.
It's just
When in your presence
I lose my mind.
With just your eyes
You catch my tongue
And my wit is lost to me.

The bartender, poor bartender, he fixes the drinks
For the music lovers, the cigarette bummers, the girls with the silly winks.
He smiles as he serves them all, but we know what he really thinks
As he runs his fingers through his hair, working out the kinks.