Long Waitresses Poems
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To The Tune Of Christmas Wrapping By The Waitresses
Damn and blast ! Somethings wrong
My dog ran off down the freeway
I was away working hard you see
And didn't see him get away.
My car broke down, things got worse
I called the cops to help me
The perfect ending for me would be
To have car working and dog with me.
So that's - my grief
A broken car and dog not with me
Then the ' cop asked if I'd had a drink
"No" I said "The smell you smell is let me think.
The cop said" We'll have to check.
Step out the car if you please
And walk on straight toward me"
I did try but fell flat on my face.
The cops were laughing and so was I
Even when they put the cuffs on me
"What about my car" I said
One said "It's not going anywhere.”
Then they put me in the patrol car
And took me down to the station
Booked me in, put me in a cell
With some murderers and rapists.
"Not guilty" I screamed out
"Keep it down" a cop shouted.
"Want my lawyer" I said to the cop
"You've got no right to keep me.
Check my aftershave it's not booze
You'll find it's whiskey flavour."
The cop said "Pull the other one
You're spending Christmas in jail this year.
Not on your life, not on your life
I'll be soon outta this place
Not on your life, not on your life
I'll be soon outta this place
Not on your life, not on your life
I'll be soon outta this place
Not on your life, not on your life
I'll be soon outta this place.
Cop laughed and said" Santa might pop
in too
You'll get turkey and some tea"
All I could think of was my poor dog
Alone out on the freeway
Or worse lying in a ditch
Without me to help him.
Then the cop said "I've got news
Your lawyer's here to see you."
My face lit up I started laughing
About time he came to get me
The cell door opened I was free to go
He'd proved to the cops what I'd told them so.
My car had been fixed, they'd towed it in
And to my surprise had found my dog
So glad it was a happy ending.
Couldn't believe it was happening.
I'm so happy, I'm so happy
Now I'm full of Christmas cheer
I'm so happy, I'm so happy
Now I'm full of Christmas cheer.
Calling Captain Hindsight, where the heck are you?
The table booked for one-fifteen and now it’s ten-past-two,
The waiting staff are anxious, they want me to move on,
Their patience was exhausted as I sat buttering a scone.
I dawdled on arrival though the menu is quite clear,
I fiddled with my glasses whenever waitresses came near,
I nibbled on some poppadoms and slowly sipped my soup
But they’re keen to move this table now, to accommodate a group.
So come in Captain Hindsight, I need you on the line,
Just Tweet a cute emoji if you’re still a friend of mine,
You must be getting hungry, clear your diary, find some foods,
The hosts of countless phone-ins are simply spouting platitudes.
Is it really sensible to let our steelworks close,
Should Boohoo use slave labour to stitch our discount clothes?
Was breaking-up the railways a really mad idea?
Dare we book a holiday for May or June next year?
Reveal yourself on Tik-Tok or maybe Instagram,
This is no time to reject toys or throw them from your pram.
Laying-low is not required they need you on the news
There are many here among us who would gladly steal your shoes.
Just who imagined gantries over motorways were sane
When stranded vehicles occasionally block the left-hand lane?
Should crops be decimated by barbarians hare-coursing
As some tally-up donations from the firms they like endorsing?
The nurses and the warehousemen all need your sound advice
Without this there’s an endless risk they’ll run around like mice.
Public trust in newspapers will ebb away and lapse,
With schisms on the increase we need you to say “Perhaps.”
So please stay in our consciousness - like Robin Hood or Santa
Without your wise opinions, LBC* will lose its banter.
When the bar stools are in use again we shan’t know what to say,
So come back Captain Hindsight, please don’t go away!
* LBC is an English language radio station highly reliant upon telephone calls from its listeners. This poem was first published by Poets Unite Worldwide on 25th September 2021.
Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane,
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors,
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes,
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out,
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
“The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.
Four cafés in his small town, on fourth floor window looking at the neighbour tower , he saw his friend entering the shopping centre
He went to join him as he wanted to share a cup of coffee with him in one of the cafés upstairs.
In the first café, some drunk people were deafening at the bar side, It drove them mad,
After taking coffee, they decided to go to the two closest cafés at the corner of the shopping centre on the third floor to avoid that noise.
They set and started to discuss before they could order some food.
His friend Look at the other cafe, which was opposite of the two closest cafés, a gorgeous waitress stood at main door and she called him using body language. He liked her and told his friend about the beauty of the waitress by the door of the café. They both saw the bouquets of roses in the fourth cafe, moved fast , thinking to find lovers. More new waitresses were gorgeous , majority of men were happy to drink and eat while seeing them around.
When she came closer to ask them to order, they were looking at her face smiling than ordering foods or drinks.
They told her to wait, and she left the code of their online manu on table. She was the last daughter of the owner of 30 cafés around the country. So humble to their customers, she wanted to find a person who could love her without knowing her rich background.
They ended up ordering food and some drinks through the code , and she came to serve them.
One of the men caughed out his feelings for her , saying , " you are gorgeous lady , I love you. "
It was a day dream to her as she liked the man early , used body language to call him closer.
The answer was , " I love you too"
They started to date and ended up marrying after some months.
Some people found their husbands and wives in the cafés.
March 13 /2023
Written for the contest sponsored by Julia Ward
There is a vicious, ground-dwelling creature
Burrowing into my skull,
Maybe a mole,
It doesn’t matter. What matters is
My head is cracked and pillaged.
Instead of gray matter, it’s full of snot
And mucus; it’s crevices drip,
And no matter how much I
Expel from my nostrils, more will come.
I hurt. The mucus has swelled my sinuses
So bulbous and enlarged, they press
Against my eyes and ears.
I hate everything and everyone I see.
Look how freely they talk and walk,
Oblivious to my pain and their freedom.
They take for granted their snotless brains.
Their thoughts flow unhindered by mucus buildups,
But mine inch and hitch and stop
Altogether. Soon, I will transform from a creature
Of bone and muscle
To a gelatinous mass with skin and eyes
And nothing else but slime.
This cold has stolen my good mood from me.
The world is a happy place, today, but I
Have a cold, and I’m miserable.
Whose idea was a cold, anyway?
At least make me sick enough
To stay at home. A cold does
Not excuse, does not
Incapacitate enough to warrant
What I think it should.
Even if I were at home, I’d still
Be cranky and in pain.
Being home fixes all maladies
But this, it seems.
Uggh.
My throat is full of cactus and my
Ears ring, my arms ache, my
Nose leaks, and I curse the one
Who bequeathed me with this Hell.
May he step on Legos for the rest
Of his days, may he never find love,
May his ears forever refuse to pop, may
He always be stuck at a red light,
May all his waitresses be cranky, may
His head sprout dandruff and his mouth
Spit word vomit -and real vomit- on those he wants to impress,
May he misplace his keys a thousand times,
May he say everything he knows he’ll regret,
May all his conquests be failures,
May every book he reads be a cliffhanger,
And may every cold that goes around
Dwell with him far longer than usual.
casino thoughts
Sitting in a casino of the damned
Somewhere on the Las Vegas Strip
Playing the slots
Watching the crowd go wild
Watching the machines watching me
Drinking the free drinks of the damned
20 drinks too sober
And the gamblers on the gaming tables
Gambling away their fortune
Throwing money away
In hopes of the payoff
That somehow never comes
The pure decadent spectacle
The fake this and fake that
Phony this phony that
False New York
Paris in Vegas
Venetian canals, Roman forum
MGM Grand Lions
All fake, all phony
All deliciously decadent
The noise
The scantily clad waitresses
The men ogling the women
The women ogling back at them
The scent of wild decadence
Bad craziness in the air
The music – the lounge music from hell
The constant sound
Of money exchanging hands
It all overwhelms me
And I must sit down
And drink my reality drink
Drink it down and dirty
As I continue
To feed the hungry, greedy machines
Made in a workshop in hell
No doubt with child or slave labor
Imported from the third world
All my money
Is sucked into it
These machines from hell
The beast from revelation appears
Stands revealed in his hideous glorious beauty
Conducting this mad scene
And I am consumed by the greed
And the frenzy takes over me
All I want
All I need
All I desire
Is one more chance
One more shot
I scream
At the utterly unfeeling monsters
That ate my money
And chewed up my soul
And I know
The worst drug of all
Is the gambling fever
The gold bugs
I would sell my soul
If I had one left
For a chance
At the jackpot of life
Instead, I am reduced
To a pathetic broken down loser
Watching the world and Elvis
Pass him by
Viva Las Vegas
Imperial God of the American Dream
Goddess of the American Nightmare
Published in former people journal
Mitigating migrating mermaids mingle marvellously. But only after consuming an oyster. Oysters can be quite operatic and operas are neither optical illusions nor organised instruments either. It is within the waves that patterns form. Darting to a mn fro. Discovering depths. Creatures yet unseen whisper to waters and sailors chant and clap several times to catch fish and avoid bad weather. The force of a tepid whiskered whale is held in high regard by a limpet. It is within a ball of nautical booms that a book is born but books made of bread should only be served in oceanside cafés and skinny waitresses in shell costumes could serve the wares from sandy plates with hair akin to seaweed dried in the sun. How rather amazing the plumage of a plummeting plum formation. Isnt that astounding really? For a dishwasher could be rather dishonest whilst all the commotion was occurring from clam tables and therefore lose the cutlery. Oh no and an oompa oompa noise means the knives have halved and dived into the perilous back of the drainage system. Must rest then the test must surely be adhered to. Like perhaps the placing of glue before washing? Yes. That would be it. Key to involving a mighty whoosh from a water machine that delivers much fresh to a stale stagnation. Static vapours only really occur when the moon is round and not triangular. Ha the curds are arriving just look at their hands painted in rainbow italics. Ha the covers of the shops are radiating a luminous glow today with ten flowers laughing from the roofs. Grafted grinding grinning crinkled paper basket in a bow tie and a trilby hat. How rather cute! And a stained weather map is a target for an ambient ship parade. Xxxxx observational z z z z z at thirty overweight groaning sticklebacks to sixteen maggots in a gymnasium z z z z z z must take to the pickle cloud a s a p. Z
Form:
These Hands, These Hands
I have seen hands like this before
In every size and color
Hands that are parched and withered
Strong hands, tired hands
Hands that can bear any load
Hurting hands that are calloused
And bent, yet these hands can be
Gentle as a kitten’s paw
Ready and able to hold and heal.
I have seen hands like this before
In upscale bistros and small-town cafes
Stashing meager tips
for the American dream.
I have watched as these hands
Hawk “The Herald”
For pennies on the dollar
Shovel coal into buckets
And black death into their lungs.
I have seen hands like this before
Hands of everyday heroes
Carrying bodies from burning towers
Pulling girder after girder
From twisted wreckage,
Hands that wipe away dirt and ash
To salute a tattered flag with pride
Determined to stand tall
In the face of terror.
I have seen hands like this before
Caring hands that teach and guide
Encourage and praise,
Motherly hands nurturing, holding
Rocking, gently disciplining
without ever harming,
Hands always willing to reach out
And help their fellow man
Always ready to volunteer.
I have seen hands like this before
Hands that create masterpieces
Deliver hope and build nations
Hands that with hard work
And determination grow stronger
Each time they reach out to others
To protect, pardon or applaud
Hands of the working man
Hands of the mother and father
Hands of teachers, doctors, nurses
Laborers, soldiers and farmers
Hands of waitresses, secretaries
Firemen and police
Hands that give comfort and aid
Hands that heal our pain
And join together in prayer
Hands that touch our lives
In simple but profound ways.
These hands, these hands
These loving, generous hands
Never resign, always giving
These hands are your hands and mine.
There are no records of the man who raised this grand hotel.
But there are many stories of the folks who new it well.
Thank God for the patient horses at the hitching rail
who carried home their rider, along a well-known trail.
The teamster he would travel, his two-mile every day,
bringing down a bounty on his overloaded dray.
And the mail coach would be coming from the other way.
They’d meet at the Star where they’d have a lot to say.
Star of Bruthen, for the many passing through,
was filled with entertainment from the characters it knew.
Whip cracking competition - fights in the stable yard
at the Star of Bruthen. Forever on its guard.
There were stables for the horses. A meal at any time!
Room for commercial travelers. Hay for the less sublime.
And if by chance you met your fate. Be heaven or be hell!
Down there at the Star there’s a room for you as well.
Star of Bruthen, for the many passing through,
was filled with entertainment from the characters it knew.
Whip cracking competition - fights in the stable yard
at the Star of Bruthen. Forever on its guard.
Star of Bruthen. What a lovely sight!
Coming down from Omeo in the fading light.
Star of Bruthen. What a welcome place!
After stepping on the wharf at the port of Mossiface.
The waitresses were pretty and so hard to retain.
Wooed and wed, the Star, would be short again
to cater for the coaches, and the folks who knew it well.
All pleased to be together in the Bruthen Star hotel.
Star of Bruthen, for the many passing through,
was filled with entertainment from the characters it knew.
Whip cracking competition - fights in the stable yard
at the Star of Bruthen. Forever on its guard.
“This place stinks, let’s get out of here,
let’s paint the town and have some fun.”
“Give me a sec, let me grab my books,”
I would reply and hurriedly we would run.
Cutting classes in our suburban school,
we'd dash off to the nearest watering hole,
then drink like tomorrow would never come,
stumbling out at midnight when we were done.
Wasting summer days on drinks and songs,
flirting with pretty waitresses all night long;
rather predictable but that was our routine,
we would get our fill, it was our usual scene.
Bosom buddies and so it seemed but that was then.
Built our careers to meet both our family’s needs
till the pressure to succeed was a knot in your head.
Though I’d often prod you to take things in stride,
your impatience was just impossible to hide.
When I made it quite big and became wealthy
you fumed ‘The damn bastard is just plain lucky.’
When I built a mansion and acquired properties,
you felt left out and thought I was greedy.
You looked at your failures vis-a-vis my success,
wondering why you didn’t have more but less.
Yours was a friendship built on shifting sands,
easily dismissed by a mere wave of your hand.
In our carefree days on board the same boat,
you know, it did not take much effort to float.
Yet years later when I started to get ahead
’twas when Mr. Hyde reared his ugly head.
So, old buddy, here is a toast and a cheer
for all the years we spent drinking our beer.
No need to feel sentimental counting the cost
nor feel regrets for what we may have lost.
For how could we lose what wasn’t there at all,
it was just make-believe, that’s all.