Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses -- Elliot Fried

(Poem #202)Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses Daily I fall in love with waitresses with their white bouncing name tags KATHY MARGIE HONEY SUE and white rubber shoes. I love how they bend over tables pouring coffee. Their perky breasts hover above potatoes like jets coming in to LAX hang above the suburbs— shards of broken stars. I feel their fingers roughened by cube steaks softened with grease slide over me. Their hands and lean long bodies keep moving so... fumbling and clattering so harmoniously that I am left overwhelmed, quivering. Daily I fall in love with waitresses with their cream-cheese cool. They tell secrets in the kitchen and I want them. I know them. They press buttons creases burgers buns— their legs are menu smooth. They have boyfriends or husbands or children or all. They are french dressing worldly— they know how ice cubes clink. Their chipped teeth form chipped beef and muffin syllabics. Daily I fall in love with waitresses. They are Thousand Island dreams but they never stand still long enough as they serve serve serve. -- Elliot Fried