My uniforms the same color as the napkins
My shoes are all covered in muck
The knife goes on the right side of the plate facing in
I'm starting to not give a ****
There's gum on the bottom of the tables
The foreigners tip me in dimes
This place is a ghost town on lunch shifts
So I sit at the bar cutting limes
If this double shift doesn't end soon
And the manager asks me to close
It's 4 am be back in 6 hours
Mid day ghost town doing fold ups and rolls
Does the steak best pair with the red or the white?
Do I look like one who tends to fine dine?
I'll just make some **** up to impress for a tip
And pray to God Facebook thinks I'm doing fine
I am NOT doing fine
First poem on here.