Good Morning, Ma'Am
Eggs Benedict warmed beneath a silver dome;
Fresh-squeezed juice in a crystal glass;
Crisp, white linen spread upon the cart;
A ‘good morning, ma’am’ -- this is first class.
Ah, room service. Would that it could be
My daily fare; with a touch of the phone pad,
A cheerful voice asking, ‘May I take your order?’
To hear this each day would make me so glad.
To lay back on a soft, plush pillow,
To savor a French croissant,
To linger over my espresso --
There is nothing else I want.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
