Reflections of a Counter Waiter

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Reflections of a Counter Waiter

Ah, the lucky ones-
The fine ladies, chatting
In their brightly colored dresses -
A rainbow of ruby, gold, and emerald -
And the stoic gentlemen
Who accompany them in faded top hats.

Yet for all their fancy parties,
Cocktail hours and dances,
For all their expensive cars,
Rolls-Royces and Cadillacs,
For all their cookie-cutter
Houses in the green-hilled suburbs,

They always end up here,
Good ol' reliable here,
Where good ol' reliable me will serve them -
Ham sandwiches and chips,
Ice creams and sodas -
Over a cracked, syrup-sticky counter.

On the other hand
(empty hand - they forgot to tip),
Perhaps I am the lucky one -
I have never enjoyed the high side of society -
Olives dancing in a glass of clear, strong liquid,
Flying down the road in a polished black car,
A square house with a white picket fence,

Only to end up back here,
Dusty, dingy, dilapidated
Here, a world of
Dirty dishes (sinkfuls of 'em),
A leaky ceiling (buckets on the floor),
And broken seats (spring poking your rear)...

"Good ol' reliable here,"
Where good ol' reliable me will leave
At the end of my double-shift,
Home to a dusty, dingy, dilapidated
One-room studio
To live my humble,
But consistent,
Life.