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

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.