Waiter Tip

I waited on your table

you smiled and met my gaze.

You dropped your bag

I picked it up

then

you picked up the tab with interest

and we stepped into a cab 

I left the dickie bow below.

We trudged the last 20 metres in the snow

to the steps by the pure white hedgerow

We slept and then we talked for days

and then I said goodbye

and said thanks for the tip

The waiting was over;

I had found my true love.

I went back one evening

and stared at the door

I froze on the steps by the green hedgerow

the rain stopping my cigarettes trail.

My thoughts of you returned quick, 

remembering your tip:

'Never trust a woman in a cafe who drops her bag,

lets you pick it up (if you work there), then tears a fiver

in half and says the rest of the tip will follow later.