Poem: Diner Waitress

 

 

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 barely a cloud

of concern no matter the crowd

that packs in the cafe

each afternoon.

 

 

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