Shadows tightly folded
into the hour of noon.
Clock hands clasp
and time stands as the stork does:
unmoving and going nowhere.
Venerable old men,
anchored on park benches,
idly stare in hagioscopic squints
at panting patrons
of sidewalk cafes.
A fly buzzes,
decelerates,
comes to rest…
The dog twitches,
unhitches the fly,
stretches under the table.
Another glass of wine sedates thirst
in warm sips.
A waiter trips.
The dog growls.
Time unclasps its warm greeting.
The stork repairs its stance.
The old men look the other way.
Shadows begin to unfold slowly.
And, as the last chime of twelve
hangs in the air,
only the waiters rush about
like buzzing flies.
(Premier Trophy Win)
When a friend’s in Manhattan,
Amid all the din,
A breakfast on Broadway’s
The way to begin.
A place near the theater
Where she has to go
Means a leisurely stroll
Will lead right to her show.
The food will pass muster;
The booths will be large.
The waiters won’t rush you,
So you’ll be in charge.
The crowds won’t be there yet,
If early you meet,
Making it much more civil
When crossing the street.
Then after your breakfast,
Once she gets on line,
You’ll stroll north on Broadway
To Arts and Design.*
The day’s just begun,
But your stomach and heart
Will be filled with the comfort
This meal will impart.
*Museum of Arts and Design
In our younger days we met for dinner;
Now it’s mainly lunch.
We needn’t rush; since we’re retired,
Time slots we don’t crunch.
We pack up meals we’ve ordered,
For we’ve barely eaten half
And when waiters ask, “Dessert or wine?”
We shake our heads and laugh.
We stop a stranger, asking if
He’ll snap our photo please.
He sees four senior citizens
So he, of course, agrees.
But what he cannot understand
(No reason that he should)
Is that, though we look old to him,
There is the likelihood
That we’ve lived through so many things
He’s only read about
And though he’ll have his own adventures,
There is little doubt
That we add up to so much more
Than what his pix reveal –
Four smiling alte kakers*
Clutching what’s left of our meal.
*a Yiddish expression meaning old farts
Here’s to the doormen,
The porters, the waiters,
The plumbers, the cabbies,
The exterminators…
Here’s to the teachers,
The nannies, the nurses,
Performers and artists
And writers of verses…
Here’s to the athletes,
The mailmen, reporters,
The chefs and the police force
And climate supporters…
Here’s to the builders
And tour guides and cleaners
And research assistants
And medical screeners…
Here’s to repairmen
And bakers and drivers
And farmers and shepherds
And all of the strivers
Who put in the effort,
Most times, to the letter,
To help make our lives
(And their own) so much better.
Have you seen women,
pushing life uphill
like Sisyphus—
without rest, without freedom?
They birth us,
they work even when their bodies ache.
They serve as if they are waiters
in a restaurant of endless demands.
They do not ask for joy,
they do not demand a pause.
Instead, they whisper prayers
for their family’s well-being—
faithful as devotees before a shrine.
And we—
children, husbands, in-laws—
what have we done?
Did we ever tell them:
“Rest today.
Live for yourself, if only for a moment.”
Even as their souls grow weary,
they keep giving.
So let us lighten their load—
a small help,
a little kindness,
so they may taste freedom,
even if only for a few minutes.
Where waiters are treated like slaves and customers like gods
Where the wishes of the customers are fulfilled with a head nod
People look to gain respect from the price of their plates
Hungry customers that complain and too impatient to wait
Some order expensive dishes to impress and that's the norm
It becomes expensive celebrating the day they were born
It gets complicated with taste buds having a split decision
And the deceptive prices on the menu go unmentioned
Many work hard and eat fancy as a personal treat
Where the single hang out hoping for someone to meet
You would hear nasty gossip or a married couple having issues
Or statements made about a thankless customer who was rude
It's amazing how much people would pay for good service
But returning an order to the cook makes me nervous
Saying the customer is always right is a terrible view
Have you ever wondered what your waiter thought of you
Here's a more detailed approach
you don't need to be advised or coached
our behaviours
the love language we use
us together is a lovely mood
actively listening
trying to understand
showing concern
just holding hands
a kiss as a reference
understanding her needs
knowing her preference
the act of pursuing
with the intention of affection
being consistent in each
and every direction
nonbelligerency
48 minutes is
2880 seconds
Cryostat to
materials science,
plasma physics,
and reactor design
Terms that describe
Fusion decency
they had argued over the taste of sweetbreads
with her not willing to taste it
.So he said his wife had a different story.
He made mention of both price and referenced it to
the taste of chicken: she'd bite!
"She said I thought the waiters name was
Thymus!" " he said, who is Thymus?"Dolce Bap;
the high level of anticipation, show stopping caliber
The taste of Thymus"
A leprechaun who was afraid
To take part in today’s big parade
Found a good place to hide
But once he was inside
Quickly saw the mistake he had made.
For instead of a pub to appease,
With some corned beef and Guinness to please,
It became very plain
He’d be eating lo mein
Since the place he was in was Chinese.
Still, the waiters went out of their way
To make sure that this unplanned delay
Was as good as could be
So, along with his tea
Was a cookie to brighten his day.
When he opened the fortune, he read,
“Though you’re Irish, we’re glad you were led
To try out our cuisine;
Now it’s back to the green
For great riches for you lie ahead!”
Chickens
Much better things to use chickens for are:
waiters, school crossing
monitors, paper
weights, door
stoppers, getting us
soda cans, handing us
toilet paper, mowing the
lawns, changing channels on the
TV, washing cars, reading to
us before we go to
bed.
I’m living dead, I’m a bad nation
As bad as you like to percieve
The easiest for condemnation
En masse, so maybe I’m not me
Because I’m always undistinguished
I am a crowd you ignore
All personalities relinquished
It doesn’t matter now what for
I cannot see a film director
That could have done a sequel to
Forman’s Ragtime, like a reflector
Under the name of Ragtime Two
A story of the insulated
Would not attract lot of attention
It would be booed and claimed outdated
And all the dire consolations
They’ll put into quotation marks
And I’ll be ridiculed to bits
So no more travels in the dark
No waiters bringing fish and chips
I’m cursed just for the case of birth
This thread will never be unravelled
For me all governments on earth
Are one – its obvious at my level.
Robins seem to enjoy my yard
Awaiting the coolness of dewed mornings
To awaken the wriggling worms
A seasonal offering favored by the feathered ones
Dandelion waiters tend to the color and flavor
Serving up “all natural”, organic, pesticide free offerings
They can vouch for the claim
As they have managed the place for 30 years
A bold red Cardinal sits atop a fence post preaching
A Beyonce’ butted ground hog scurries away
Doves coo from within the safety of the hedges
A house cat stalks them from a windowsill
Buds dance to the music of the wood winds
A sparrow choir sings an opening hymn
As a disinterested hawk rides the updrafts
A chipmunk takes his order to go
There is no need to apologize for the things you mistakenly forget to do
What type of person would I be to make a mockery of patience and virtue?
You did right with direct condolences, which most would seldom bother to do
A smile means more than a fork and spoon; the steak needed the rest in my humblest of view
Feelings of appreciation are my hope for the rest of your evening after reading this; my gratitude is for all that you do
There are lots of things that are black and white,
Like zebras and Newcastle United, they are a good team and get their fans excited.
Penguins are mostly black and white, but some have coloured plumage too,
There are quite a few different types you can see them in the zoo.
There are lots of crows, from rooks and ravens and the black and white magpie too.
Undertakers wear black and white, and waiters often wear the same,
They are both just playing the formal dress code game.
Snooker players wear black and white when you see them on the television,
They are brilliant when you watch them they play the game with such precision.
A while ago there wasn’t any colour just black and white TV,
So, watching other sports just wasn’t so easy.
There are so many things, I could go on and on,
But luckily there are other colours that can make a rainbow that stretches into the sky beyond.
The world goes on with so many colours in many different hues,
From yellow and purple right through to shades of blue.
But really, we all know that there is wrong and there is right,
Things should all be so simple its really black and white.
A woman in a pale green dress
On a pier, with her handbag
Tide is going to progress
Waves roll faster, lowered flag
Slightly quivers on the wind
Someone orders the high tea
A lifeline wasn’t firmly pinned
Now it’s bobbling in the sea
Sunlight weakens, sky gets grayer
Waiters with their trays go by,
Serving reasons for a prayer
But one's memory won’t try
Then you bend, over the table,
Smiling, whispering in my ear
And a horn blows, I’m unable
Your sweet joking words to hear.
This time of the year again
She has gone shopping for gifts to give the young
she would not take me along, knows I would be grumpy
and sarcastic and impatient.
I sat on the plaza with a glass of Chianti, not because I like this wine but because it is the only Italian name I could think of,
A mist of people around me, a crescendo of voices
talking about about a topic they agreed upon, Noel
I unfold the paper “Stalemate in Gaza.”
It does not ring a bell for the consumers, in the thrall of the glittering street decoration, fake snow, and humbug
We have been invited to a restaurant so grand waiters
dress like diplomats, call out your name when entering
Our esteemed Senor Hansen from Sweden at table number 12. What! I am not Swedish but never mind
I will get revenge when asking for Alentejo Red Wine
When we come back to the Algarve, it can be cold
in January, a man will come from the upland with a truck
of firewood, ready cut and dry.
The only sound we will hear during the festivities are
are the bleating of the lamb
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