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Poem

Rushing to tables, to people
Mostly strangers in vibrant colors
Hungry for more than biscuits
Starving for a kind word, a smile

All those years, through tears
And often through tired fears
I hurried past eager voices, accents
Telling and retelling of life journeys

Dishes piled up on empty tables
Waiting to be cleared, scrubbed
By faithful hands with wet rags
Who left not a blemish or smudge

Sprinting through the crowd
Of diners, many off from work
Taking their lunch break sometimes
And an evening feast other nights

Racing from one waiting diner to another
Hoping to please them enough so
They would leave a nice tip, my salary
Dependent on their kindness, their gifts

Waiting for the moment when departure
Of the café would bring me their offering
Their humanity poured out with a glass of tea
And a plate full of hope from a waitress in need

After making my rounds to the kitchen and back
Into the shift of dashing from one table
To the next with a cheerful smile and pitcher
I long to know the ease of naked feet

Feet that have felt the pangs of a few hours
Of twisting and turning through the patrons
Who never see the pain of aching backs
And sore feet on the beaming face they meet

Waitress' and waiters seldom tell the customer
How difficult it is to simply absorb the discomfort
Into a beaming grin of friendliness, embracing
Both the heart and soul with hospitality and affection

Gratuities left for me are blessings I breathe
A heartfelt thanks for the moment I’m away from
The restaurant’s heavy hustling and bustling
That leaves me so exhausted I almost tremble








Open Poetry 4 Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot 
May 1, 2021

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