The Poet Waitress

They drove all the way into the hands of the Law and the Reaper.

Notes to Persephone

The Poet Waitress

Draft 1

By: Chase L. Currie

 

The weariness of the day strolls in with me to the tiny dime shack of a diner holding me and no one else in the breaking morning dawn. I sat down with a thud from the weight on my mind, the emptiness of the dream of last night where the lovely Sheba dance all the way down, and left me with nothing yet again, but wounds and sins. The Night rolled over me with my putrid hands wrapped up in her midnight hair.

Day came, she ran away, and I was left longing for a cup of coffee hungover like a devil.

                A cute doll with thin red lips came cruising up to me with a mug and a cup in her wee little hands. “Look’s ya needed this, honey.” Her sweet Texan drawl all the way from Dallas, blessed me with the truth.

                I didn’t disagree with the lovely thing as she poured the gift from God in the off-white cup. She told me she was going to be a poet one day and be on the big screen like those dames in Hollywood. I sat back, listening to the grand old dream smiling from ear to ear. She likes to smoke cigars, she said, ride fast cars and shoot loud guns with no heed for the Law.

                She told me all of this before the milk hit the coffee. She sure was going to make it big, just not on the screen, and where she wished to be famous, she became infamous with the boy of her heart. They went down together in the hell of bullets from the long guns of the Law Man, who didn’t mind using a Hamer.

                 I flipped her an extra dime on my way out; she blew a kiss and a wink as I asked her to write me a sad, sad, teary-eyed love poem one day.

                “Sure, thing Mister,” she said,” sure bloody thing.”