The Waitress

The din of a busy cafe

A clatter of dishes and

Small conversation and

“Hi, how are you?”

It’s all “Nothing’s new”

On hot summer’s eve

In July

She slips from her work for a moment

Closes some door to

The rush and the roar

Where I’ve drawn up behind her

Averting my eye

I hope she won’t mind

Will she mind?

She stares at the changing horizon

Yielding a sigh

To the approaching skies, she

Struggles with sadness

Everything stills

But the tear in her eye

And in mine

She forces her way to the surface

Back to the rhythm and

Into the system, she

Covers her tables,

Her patrons disarmed

By her smile and her charm

And I?

I stare at my Sunday Times

But I’m thinking of tears

And troublesome fears and

Lingering pain

Caught in the pauses

The loss and the causes


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