Waitress torture

Waitress Torture

 

She couldn't have been

A day older than twenty-one

Pretty-young-thing

When she asked sweetly

If I would like cinnamon in my latte.

 

I said no, and asked

For a spoon.

Lies dissolve quickly

When stirred into hot coffee,

Masked by clouds of nicotine.

 

She vanished

In an explosion of blond hair

My companion started

Sobbing, to whom I offered

The napkin from my saucer.

 

"I was pretty once

Though the chemo

Has taken

The last of my hair

And made craters of my face.

 

"I pray to him every night

Jesus I mean, I ask

I say:

'Give me back my face!'

 

"But c'est la vie

You know?"

 

Blondie is back

Brandishing a spoon -

She looks strangely demonic.

 

My companion, she

No longer cries, only

Looks at me with cold,

Dead eyes.

 

.AG