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Poem

I was reading the New York Post
on Election Day sitting at a table
distant from others and felt safe;
a pretty girl in her twenties in a red uniform
wearing a blue cap to break the norm,
asked me for my order and as I looked up
the portrait of President Trump lit up
from a filtered sunray through the store window,
" It's a good omen for a vibrant president 
waiting on a victory that even myself predicted. "
Today is a bright day, but it lingers with sorrow...
every nation looks to America for a future so dimmed.

The puzzled waitress stared at me and repeated,
" Sir, may I have your order? " " Oh, yes, coffee
with pancakes, please. " " No sausages, or ham?"
" Just plain pancakes." I kindly said. 
" She took my order and scurried  away
a little perplexed, almost in dismay...
while the portrait of Trump continued to gleam.

Coffee was served, but on the table, there was no cream,
" I don't drink black coffee where's the cream, transgender? "
I got slapped twice and felt some pain, the angry manager
came out, but she was fatter than a cow, I was terrorized.
I apologized for any silly remark as I touched my hair so unkept, 
" No gender harassment in this restaurant is permitted! "
You are a Trump supporter and you dislike the girl I hired! "
I am going to slap you four times for your inappropriate comment 
and pour coffee all over your hair that needs a haircut I deem! "
I got up and dripping with hot coffee, I saluted Trump's portrait and left.

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