Yes I'm a waitress-

Which doesn't mean I'm dumb
People skills are declining in need
But still you all come

I'm here 40 hours a week
Clean the restaurant before I start
Some days I feel ok
Most days I've a broken heart

Even though I'm cracked inside
And my fake smile wants to frown
I'll give a night you'll never forget
Face painted like a clown

You have no idea
in your one hour break
Or your 30th birthday
Which I will make great

That just last night
I received bad news
But I have to work still
I don't get to choose

I'm dying inside
but you'd never guess
Smiling my head off
Though my hearts in a mess

So next time you come
and I'm not the best you've had
Just remember I'm human
And I'm losing my dad

The kid with the beard and the ***** apron,
he's just trying to make it.
His shoes have small tears on the sides,
from the way water saturates and weakens the material.
He’s got this way of gliding from table to table,
the same way a dancer owns a stage.
He slides plates of salt-ridden tacos currently in vogue
to a roomful of overfed, undersexed office drones

A woman in a skirt and flip-flops rolls her eyes at a salad.
A ******* in a blazer flicks a ****** under the table.
Still, there's a twinkle in the kid’s eyes,
like he's on the make.
If the right circumstances unfold
he’d snag a loose twenty
from a wallet or a purse.

This is the server's life,
always under the thumb,
hated and stressed,
but always laughing
at the end
of each shift.

I like the nastiest bars,
Those where the waitress is called names
But she doesn't care 'cause she's too kind
And tries to keep it all clean for 400 a month.

Those bars have drama
Whole worlds and stories continuosly entangling,
Whisky on rocks, vomits and shouts
Here comes Rita the waitress to clean it all again;
Dogs bark in the streets
Women cry in their beds as men get drunk
And kick the innocent trash can over a discussion about gibberish.

The loner cat lurks the street at night
Hunting for hamburgers that fell off the trash can,
The drunk men start a fight,
'Here comes the police!' 'Run-run!'
One falls, gets the blame and a free trip to county jail,
Three others join a party and feed the ******
Money and **** --- tails.

Finally, the last one goes home
To beat the crying wife over the same junk
And the repressed anger only a coward can hide.

8/12/2016

a single space and two bodies  
you are drawn to the same air as i
but only (and only) sometimes
i wait for the message
that says "hello beautiful"
sift through the crowds to reach you for "goodbye"
and those days always come and go
when they're here, they're here
when i have nothing to show for myself
i can't stand to be next to a mirror
picking apart all the things you say you love about me
up and awake wondering when you'll set your sights on a new shiny distraction
i don't believe in putting a padlock on handcuffs and swallowing the key
nothing gold can stay
yet my mouth waters at the thought of pulling you in
but this place is a social experiment
where you and i can be whoever you want
i am a social chameleon
adjusting to whichever patterns and personalities fit my surroundings
believer and doubter
but the light and darkness aren't ambiguous
just the shadows between
and that's where we'll be
if you let me

8/27/16

you flirt with me innocently through a receipt
my last night at here
and for the last three months i tried to justify the casual verbal and physical ****** harassment that was happening before me - to me
because he was easy on the eyes
and he dressed up ***** words to make them sound poetic and pretty
and anything but romantic
nobody had to ask why i was leaving because i didn't tell anyone except for the managers - all but one
the one who is known for this pattern of taking us naïve girls to the beer cooler in the back
to do anything but what was gentlemanly
and i ate up every single line like they were candy hearts
because he made my head blow up like a balloon
he's in there now
smiling like nothing's wrong
and when it's blatantly obvious that everything about what he does is so wrong - even illegal - that's what merits a "what's wrong"
and i don't know why i still love you
because you haven't once attempted any of the things you said you would
you've just pulled me so fearlessly close that i have to get as far away as possible because the "l" word scares me
and you would rather her than i
and you're caged up in the same home as someone you probably have to share a bed with even though you don't want to
you blame it all on the way your parents raised you
and the nightmare your mother had
meanwhile i would've cared for you relentlessly
and i do?

Standing on the sidewalk
Hearing all the back talk
Watching while they cakewalk
Wonderin’ how I got here.

Step behind the bar table
Fool yourself if you are able
Tell yourself this ain’t no stable
And them ain’t dumb animals.

Start a conversation
End it in frustration
Why the aggravation
You know ******* can’t talk.

Turn into a pill head
Drop ‘em til you see red
Wish that you could be dead
Or anywhere but here.
                   <<>>

A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.

Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.

Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.

In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.  
Pirouetting to the ***,
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.

Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.

Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.