The Waiter

We sat down together for coffee in a restaurant somewhere to think
We asked the waiter to empty the ashtray,
he said “sure folks, what can I get you to drink”
“Go on”, I say, “take your time; it’s on me, order anything, I’m buying”
It’s strange for you to be this way, I’m not used to you crying.
You look me in the eyes and you say that you’re dying
It’s not fair to me at all, you’ve not put me in the picture…
and the waiter came back…
He offered us snacks

He gave us the coffee we had ordered and offered us something to eat
He said “later we’ve got specials on entrees”,
I waved him off trying to be discrete
Your eyes dried up fast and you smiled, you tried to say thank you
It’s just the two of us here, you and me, there’s no Biggles to the rescue
I took you hand in mine, I knew then what to do,
Like suddenly-aware St Paul in a mad bit of scripture
and the waiter came back…
with a cutlery pack

What we have here may be a tall, tall order
and I don’t mean to be wasting your time
Give us a moment, perhaps bring us a soda
Don’t worry, the ashtray’s just fine.

We settled the bill here in silence,
as the waiter knocked a glass from the shelf
Don’t get involved in someone else’s problem
unless you’re as big as the problem itself

The cafe was like a church
Fat people worshipped the body
The candles add to the atmosphere
of holy communion
You blew one out,
and I loved you for that second
and dragged really hard.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *