poem of the day 02.10.09

the worst waitress in the world

my god
i finally found her
the worst waitress in the world
she just sits there letting some
hispanic barfly tell her about his tricked
out car and brand new cell phone
while my lunch sits on the counter
getting cold
and i grow tired of watching the beer
lace evaporate in my pint glass.
the worst waitress, after all this time.
i love the way she crosses her legs
in jeans she shouldn’t be wearing
the way her ass crack shows each time
she bends over to touch
the hispanic’s hand
or answer her cell phone
or turn up the goddamned rolling stones
on the jukebox.
she is a vision.
the worst waitress.
the way she keeps looking back at me
and my wife
but won’t bring us our food
won’t ask us if we want another beer.
i’ve waited so long for her.
years, in fact, sitting on bar stools
and in booths across america.
i’ve waited for the world’s worst waitress
in dallas, frisco, denver, chicago, and cleveland
never knowing that all of this time
she was right in a bar on 4th street, manhattan
talking to some hispanic
and shaking her ass to the stones
while my french fries begin to droop
and the pickle gets warm.
i feel dumb.
the worst waitress right under my nose
and i didn’t see it.
well, congratulations, bitch
because you’ve done it.
you’re the worst waitress in the world
and i guess i’m just another unsatisfied
customer
another fool who will sit here, dumbly,
eating cold fries and a glossed over hamburger
drinking his own backwash
while you talk and laugh and turn up the music.
congratulations, worst waitress in the world.
you’ve earned it.
just like the fucking tip you’re not getting
this afternoon.