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mars Feb 7
I got this job because I was seventeen
Available everyday at three
In debt with a man after I went clean
My boss at the time was thirty six with a goatee
Five dollars an hour plus tip, you see
It was fine for me.

I met the others standing by the kitchen line
All of them with the same look in their eye
Lying to family and friends saying, financially, their fine
Getting nothing on a tip and never knowing why
Yet they return the next day to serve white wine

Looking around I see all of us wanted more
But I’m in debt and you have to pay the rent
Do it all in one day and go home to a son that’s four
Under the thumb of an old vice president

The roof over the kitchen is about to cave in
And we watch with silent eyes
Because our uniforms are being held with safety pins
Promised new ones but Corporate lies

And when the bubble in the ceiling pops
We’ll be by the dumpsters flicking cigarettes on the road
While the greedy pigs come in drawing lots
Waiting for the gas stove to explode

Paid vacation sounds lovely
Been here every week for the past year
Sometimes I’m called to  come in early
Pick up the broken glass from lunch rush beer

The people come in
Angry as they usually are
Now the glares don’t even touch my skin
It makes me laugh how many nasty people sit at the bar
The high-class families who come in for din

It’s been eight hours and six years
Since we started our shift
Staying here for three more is the biggest fear
But we’re already ******
We’ve been here for long we know this career

What else am I supposed to know
Other than how to make dough

It’s been a long night
You can see it in the height
Of cigarette buts by the dumpster
Where we can freely talk about the customer

It’s a busy life
Feels like we’re running out of time
To get out and ignore the strife
But there are times when the tips make us feel sublime

And we can buy a warm meal
Cause maybe it will heal
These aching muscles
That come from a constant hustle

Don’t you see why they say
At the end of the day
We need an ashtray.
Daniel Magner Jan 20
don't eat it,
but don't tell me
"It ain't Texas enough."
I know.
We are in Seattle,
the owners are Chinese,
and I'm Californian,
so it's definitely not Texas.
It's a mutt.
"Dog food," said a customer.
I don't blame. I ain't mad,
they just pay me to be here.
Daniel Magner
Shawn Awagu Dec 2019
The restaurant is quiet, relatively, the one that
Maya told you about yesterday at lunch
She and her boyfriend mentioned “Three’s Company”—
No not the show—
And how we should go out there sometime
“Yeah, maybe we should”
You said because you don’t know how to say no

The lighting is warm, like an Olive Garden
But there’s a draft on your neck and your hands are cold because there is no one standing next to you
You wish you were there instead; even though this place looks nice, you don’t know if it actually is
And you start to feel the vibrations

Before you psych out and walk out, you sit down at a table and wait for an underpaid waitress—
There she is—
“Hello, my name is Elif and welcome to Three’s Company. What would you like to order?”
You spot her nametag—
“Excuse me, would you happen to be of Turkish descent?”
Her eyes light up—
“Wow, how’d you know that? Everyone just thinks I’m American.”
Remember, she has to be nice—
“I like exploring languages cultures. I find it fascinating that we’re all the same, yet so radically different in our own way.” This doesn't actually make sense, but it sounds interesting.
Her eyebrows dance. Cute—
“Well Mr. Philosopher, what can our establishment provide for you today?”
Quick, glance at the board—
“American Classic. No pickles”
“Coming right up!”

Her pen damages the atmosphere for a few moments, and then she’s gone
You almost feel like you’re human until you remember she’s underpaid to smile and small talk
And your hands start shaking again; look I’m sorry kid
I like you
But you’re not much company
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
I had too much wine
He ate all my white truffles
That crude selfish boar
Wine & White Truffles
B Morgan Talbot Aug 2019
A row of empty tables;
Tables set for two,
Two crystal cups, a candle,
Everything but you.

An almost vacant restaurant
An hour from the close
With gentle scraping cutlery
And everything but you -

Oh, what awareness that it brings
Of each person born alone
To live alone,
To die alone,
To wait, and sit and chew.

A row of empty tables,
But I’m filling in the view
And the waiter takes the rest away -
Everything but you.
Occasionally dining out alone is fun, but not all of the time.
Just trying a simple rhyme out.
SomeOneElse Dec 2018
Sitting at the restaurant
Eating with your friends
Suddenly you realize
You're in for a surprise
Hiding under your table
Hiding from your friends
I'm hoping to have some fun
Trying to make you ***
You try not to make a face
You try not to grin
Hope no one will make a fuss
If someone catches us
As i start to spread your legs
And kissing your thigh
My tongue moves to lick your ****
Can't get enough of it
You begin to lose control
As I'm eating you
Trying not to come undone
As you begin to ***
I am still not done with you
After you have cummed
I continue licking you
Until ****** two
Time to leave the restaurant
And to start act 2
In the limo off we go
You're my girl, I'm your beau
You take off all of your clothes
And kneel before me
Seeing just how hard i am
You stroke me with your hand
You then start ******* my ****
Making me feel great
Pleasing me until I'm done
You swallow all my ***
Both of us in ecstasy
Living out this fantasy
Just another fantasy put to pen and paper to get it out of my head
Madeline Thetard Dec 2018
I like to hand the world words on a silver platter
Sauté them with gusto and a shake of sugar
Feed them to strangers and watch their faces
To register any sign of delight or disgust

They commend me on my service
As I fill their wine glasses until they’re
Tipsy from the poetry
Savoring every sip and swallow
Like the linguist who speaks solely at midnight

But they try to catch me playful
And they try to throw me smiles
Unknowing that the poet only writes
Behind closed doors
In some nook or crevice there is a key
I threw away long ago
Right after I locked up my heart and soul
And took up a pen in my hand

They say to write what’s inside
But I’m sorry if I cannot read you a poem
While looking in your eyes
For there is far too much empathy
To make me feel safe

Maybe if the critics wrote me harsh reviews often
Maybe if I spilled the words onto my palms
And washed them all off with tears
I could let the world in
Instead of bussing tables shielded by
The windows of the soul

I like to hand the world words on a silver platter
But no one ever gets to see the face who makes them
Kamiel Choi Nov 2018
People laugh around a plate of moving squid
They are served
abalones as appetizers:
you **** the animal out
and devour him.

Everything here is maritime:
Wheel, ring, buoy, compass, fishnet, gargoyle

I am illiterate for the menu,
but I devour the fish I pined for

Outside in the fish tanks some light is breaking
I see air bubbles rising.
Written in a fish restaurant in Seoul
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