Poem: Diner Waitress
January 4, 2016
The waitress at the county’s
favourite luncheonette counter
swings and sings
the songs of the sixties
“She walks like an angel,
talks like an angel”
jiving and gesturing with the farmers
and truckers and travelers
flashing her eyes
delivering pies a la mode
“In Dreams, you’re mine,
All of the time”
dancing and prancing to mothers
and all kinds of others
soothing and smoothing
and smooching and cooing
“Mashed potato, yeah, yeah, yeah
The mashed potato, yeah, yeah, yeah”
passing the work day with nary a cloud
of concern no matter the crowd
that packs in the cafe
each afternoon.