Catastrophe Waitress

catastrophewaitress
Mood: Stoic
Drinking: Something Pink

Catastrophe Waitress

i.
Lunching with women in ruffled collars
and buckled heels I reveal
far too much
over split pea ravioli.

I am so full of dreams I can
not stop them spilling over
so I ask for the check
to regain my restraint
and holster my smoking tongue.

ii.
No matter what she says,
I cannot think it anything but cruel
to divulge dreams of childbirth
to a woman whose womb
is a minefield.

She sips her Diet Coke, extra ice,
with what should pass for nonchalance
and says her body is slippery
and far too dangerous. “Even
the rats have abandoned ship.”

Attempts at wry rodent humor
are not a good sign.

Very few people follow up a miscarriage
with abortion. But she is
a condemned building in which
no one can be allowed to live
and here I come
banging down the door
bringing torture cupcakes.

iii.
Attracted by the attention
the local paper has brought
to the dead heads of stuffed game
that decorate the walls, we visit
the new place on G Street
to sample pancakes and controversy.

You position the stroller so
he has the best view of the room
but laden with milk, he sleeps
right through breakfast, oblivious
to the glassy brown gaze
of taxidermied antelope
who dream of lost safari fields,
ghost limbs twitching.

-Lo, who is now twitching for pancakes.

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