Poem: The Waiter's Eye

If you figure this one out, let me know your take on it.

The Waiter's Eye

All this stuff made sense somehow
Poetry when I wrote it or so it seemed,
the whole thing just a moment’s look
at whatever came along and caused

the muse in me to muse, if anyone
believes in muses anymore, but
That’s getting complicated and I know
that poetry’s supposed to be slimming

Not fast food, but an evening out,
five courses across linen and candlelight
I feel I’ve ordered the wrong wine,
made myself a fool over silverware

Which fork is salad, which is meat
I hope perhaps you’ll understand
this place is pretty well beyond my means
I hope to have enough to leave a tip

But the waiter’s eye is hard for me to catch
Some people are more meant for waiter’s eyes
They’re instantly there, smiling and obsequious
I have a hard time getting coffee and a check
Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection


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