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The last of the lights turned out,
drinks and hors d’oeuvres put away,
restaurant returned to its every-day self,
only a few candles in glass lanterns
now left on the bare pine tables.

She sits at one of the tables, and,
wincing, kicks off her shoes, removes
her cocktail apron and name tag,
leans on her elbows, inhaling the
cinnamon steam from her hot toddy.

Exhausted, with her piled-up hair
slightly disheveled, she relaxes.
The bride and groom are off
on their honeymoon to Santorini,
guests and most staff home to sleep.

The neon glow from outside
bathes her in a pink and blue haze
making her look less like a waitress
and more like a girl expecting a date
or actress waiting for her audition.

The hot drink gone, she redons shoes
and fetches her coat and purse
from the kitchen, leaving the cup.
Georgio, the boss, calls “Get some sleep.
You’ll need it tomorrow.” She sighs.

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