A Poem: When I was a waiter

Everything is confirmed

Predictable and orderly

As if in the hands of

A young dictator

Until midnight

There won’t be any more customer

Couples have finished dinner

Phone browsing

No talking

as if too full to be close

As a waiter

I have no opinions

Or judgments

I have only smiles and thoughts

Calling out order numbers

accepting card or cash

(2025.02.22)