The Waitress

It’s obvious that
our waitress is distracted.
Tears in her eyes
are threatening to drop onto
her order pad.

Her mood lacks the weary sighs
of “just one of those days.”
Her woeful expression
has links to a lifetime.

She brings us drinks
and food,
more by rote
than with any obvious will to please us.
Our thirsts, our hungers,
are clearly not hers.

I picture an abusive ex,
kids that don’t talk to her
and a landlord that does
when she wishes he wouldn’t.

Maybe she’s so down on her luck
she could never afford to eat in this place
where we qualify as regulars.
And then there’s our happiness,
a menu of laughter, whispers,
fingers touching, smiles and loving eye contact.
Everything may look appealing
but nobody’s taking her order.