Of its towers most seldom obsess
My mind it brings ease- with pics, songs, and movies
In it the ocean e’er rolling
Pristine vistas its canvasses holding
It needs not all that much room
Its drums and guitar play my tune
So small, yet so vast what it may do
Fish,
Uncooked.
Like parasites?
Don’t.
Resting Silently ‘gainst the wall in the corner
Silently lending song to ming
Pleading to my hands, “Just one”
Though time I know’ll slip by
But my time it takes
And song it makes
Strumming grace
My hands
Play
A fine failure
Enlisted, yet inside not buying
A fine failure
Efforts present but incomplete
Trying, trying
Though to myself only lying
A fine failure
Wanting; indulging.
Desire-driven carelessness.
One’s self ever neglected.
Into the thick I wade
Learning the way
Warned at first just to stay
While I watch the intricacies of the trade
Seeing the hustle
Some heads spinning
Others somehow grinning
Even required is some level of muscle
Fearing the remarks
And occasional chastising
We are the waiting
Every day each embarks
On the serving of new sets of faces
Sitting quietly or noisily
Discovering at their table and enjoying fully
The fun of treading on a server’s laces
So rare on weekends
A space during which one may relax
To plot on which plate will be served a Tampax
To enter this world depends
One’s ability of the self not to defend
And more so to swallow
The pride which one could follow
So one may successfully wait tables to the very end
English with Marlen
Radical but pleasant
Short, sweet, to the point
I’m sure we’ll all get along
As the course passes by
