Eat
Cold and dark in the morning
talk comes with a price
it is a bargain for the waitress
and diners get what they need.
The eggs are served with sympathy
for another birthday missed
the road is more than miles for
the trucker who takes them over hard.
Booth number 9 is an omelet and oatmeal
a preacher and acolyte looking for a church
the preacher's collar is frayed and yellowed
in service to a god who speaks too softly.
At the table by the door the farmers drink
coffee and talk of weather tractors prices
they have the look of a dying breed not because
they are old -their sons are off to college the
army the city or anywhere else
daughters will wait
not one of them will marry a farmer.
A young couple passing through
sits in number 8 close almost huddled
the boy counts his coins the girl looks cold
the waitress brings hot tea
'It's on the house honey.' They order toast
to share, she slips ham onto to the
plate when the cook's not looking
'I'll take that outta your tips.'
he never does.
The woman at the end of the counter
tattoos a glass with her lips
she is the blue plate special one egg
one pancake two strips of hard salty bacon
the long night gives her an appetite for
comfort and something real before going home
to wash the haze of stale cologne out of her hair.
Street lights go out
the sun promises warmth
diners pay bills homage thanks
and go out to live in the light
the waitress cleans tables
then counts her tips
She floats from counter to table
to booth serving coffee water eggs toast and
some things not on the menu
reassurance hope sustenance for the day
she takes their orders brings what they need
and all of this beneath a sign that says EAT.
poem by Ronald Shields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dubrovnik 1972.
Dubrovnik seemed
a second home,
and you, in a street
cafe, sat drinking coffee,
with that book on
Schopenhauer open
on the table, a cigarette
smoking in an ashtray
unattended, thinking
of the girl in the hotel
restaurant the night
before, the waitress
who smiled at you as
she served and went
by your table, and your
brother said, I don't
fancy yours much,
indicating with a nod
of head, another
waitress over by a
nearby table, plump
and spotted, wearing
a scowl instead of a
smile, and all the while,
he eyeing, as young
men do the beauty
that had caught your
eye going by, but all is
fair in love, so men
have said, so picking
up the book on
Schopenhauer, and
further reading,
holding the cigarette
between the fingers
of the hand not
turning pages, you
inhaled with deep
concentration the
smoke and words
spread across the
page, written by a
philosopher of a
foreign tongue
and different age.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Juniors Grill
Mashed potatos, lima beans,
Redeye gravy, collard greens,
Cutest waitress youve ever seen,
Down at juniors grill.
Sweet ginger brings your plate,
Always hot and never late;
Top it off with a chocolate cake,
Down at juniors grill.
Its heaven with a corner booth,
Thats the truth;
Chrome and naugahyde;
Its cool inside.
The jukebox never stops,
Theres coffee in the pot,
So come and get your fill
At juniors grill.
Ginger takes her break at 10,
Lays aside her pad and pen,
Punches up stand by your man
Down at juniors grill.
I seen her dancing, she seen me look;
Oh lord, what a chance I took,
Cause gingers soft on that big ole cook
Down at juniors grill.
Its heaven with a corner booth, thats the truth;
Chrome and naugahyde; its cool inside.
The jukebox never stops, theres coffee in the pot,
So come and get your fill at juniors grill.
So come and get your fill at juniors grill.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Breakfast
Fried bread, Lord, who's still not; been fed.
Not me a little voice said…
Who said that? A park duck!
Or some hard luck Indian fatherless kid.
Eggs and bacon, God, is there, no!
Red ketchup or bake beans,
Hey kid get-up off your soiled knees.
After collecting that plastic garbage
With an iron-hook in a cardboard box
Whilst your mothers out selling her body,
With some pox-up jocks
Hey can we have some grilled tomatoes,
And black pudding and mushrooms on the side.
I'll have a coffee over here! It's rainy outside.
Hey child - you'll soon be a bride!
A suitor for you, shouldn't be hard to find…?
Let's tip the waitress boys, she so looks suppressed
Depressed - but at least she's got a uniform
And a collection-fund and a counsel house
And at the weekend she's pissed and jocund.
Hell I could eat another pork sausage!
Latter we'll go to The Nags Head
And even later still play some cribbage
The wife at home she can wait at home alone.
I've got the waitress to phone.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Judy
The waitress with the orange hair keeps motionin' me to hurry up and leave
I gulp my coffee - burn my mouth - grab up my coat and slippin' out
I smear a streak of mustard down my sleeve
And the guy behind the register takes my bread and shakes his head
And looks at me as if I've blown his mind
Hey, I just come here for some coffee…hope I'm not waistin' anybody's time.
And Judy I'm slowly movin' back to you
And I wish that I could say I'll treat you better than I used to
It's just I'm learnin' lots of things I never knew back then
Judy I'm slowly movin' back again
That blue eyed barracuda smiles and tells me she could she could use some brand new clothes
She grabs my leg with a wink, asks if I want another drink
She's not the campfire girl you might suppose
But she's so busy tellin' me her troubles I don't think she's got time
For any kind of trouble small as mine
Hey, I just come here for nothin'… hope I'm not waistin' anybody's time
I stop here on the corner, but that red faced cop says move along your way
My toes are cold, my nose is numb, I got no feeling in my thumb
I think I just might stop inside that church and maybe pray
But they pass the plate and look at me when it turns out that I ain't got a dime
Hey, I just come in here to talk to GOD… hope I'm not waistin' anybody's time
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Somebody
At a diner down on Broadway they make small talk
When she brings his eggs and fills his coffee cup
He jokes about his love life
And tells her he's about ready to give up
That's when she says "I've been there before
But keep on lookin'
Cause maybe who you're lookin' for is
Somebody in the next car
Somebody on the mornin' train
Somebody in the coffee shop
That you walk right by everyday
Somebody that you look at but never really see
Somewhere out there is somebody"
Across town in a crowded elevator
He can't forget the things that waitress said
He usually reads the paper
But today he reads a strangers face instead
It's that blue eyed girl
From two floors up
Maybe she's the one
Maybe he could fall in love with
Somebody in the next car
Somebody on the mornin' train
Somebody in the coffee shop
That you walk right by everyday
Somebody that you look at but never really see
Somewhere out there is somebody
Now they laugh about the moment that it happened
A moment they both missed until that day
When he saw his future in her eyes
Instead of just another friendly face
And he wonders why he searched so long
When she was always there
At that diner waitin' on
Somebody in the next car
Somebody on the mornin' train
Somebody in the coffee shop
That you walk right by everyday
Somebody that you look at
But never really see
Somewhere out there
Oh, somewhere out there
Is somebody
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Max Wanted
What do you want from me?
Max's wife said
and he looked by her
at the waitress
at the cafe
who was walking
with some order
behind his wife's back
and he noticed
the cute ass as she moved
the way she swayed
and the hands
holding the tray
huh? What is it
you want from me?
his wife repeated
her eyes peering at him
taking in
that aspect of him
as he turned his head
look said Max
following the waitress
to the table across the way
his eyes slowly
undressing her
his mind making up scenes
like in some movie
you say come on Honey
let's go out for a meal
and talk
and what are you doing
looking elsewhere
and not talking
his wife said
spittle on her lower lip
Max looked back
at his wife and said
oh yes sure
I was thinking
of the Picasso print
we saw the other day
you know that one
we both liked
and you said you'd like it
for your birthday
well maybe
I ought to get it
what do you think?
And the waitress
looked over at Max
as she went by
and he saw
a whole new ball game
in her eyes
and caught the cheek
and ear
and was sure
he captured some aspect
of her perfume
and his wife said
Picasso?
That Picasso?
are you sure Max?
and she went into a daze
and smiled
and Max imagined himself
and the waitress
and sex games
and a party
going wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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Lonely Grill
Box speaker talkin out a tune
Two for one on a blue lagoon
Another lost and found
Bartender takes another pass
Puts the salt on the rim of another glass
And he sits it down
I know every color of every neon sign
Flashing out a heartache in the back of my mind
Down at the lonely grill
Got nothing but time to kill at the end of everyday
I sit in a corner booth and do nothing but think of you
And the love we threw away
And I guess I always will
Down at the lonely grill
Sad-eyed waitress called betty lynn
Got her order pad and her ball-point pen
Said whatll it be
I said a tall glass of cold regret
A full order of loneliness
Like every night this week
Ill shoulder my pride and I drank it down
Another smoke filled evening with no fire to be found
Down at the lonely grill
Got nothing but time to kill at the end of everyday
I sit in a corner booth and do nothing but think of you
And the love we threw away
And I guess I always will
Down at the lonely grill
Lonely grill
I sit in a corner booth
And do nothing but think of you
And the love we threw away
And I guess I always will
Down at the lonely grill
Lonely grill
Down at the lonely grill
Down at the lonely grill
Down at the lonely grill
At the lonely grill.
song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Halley's Waitress
Halley's waitress
Never comes around
She's hiding in the kitchen
She's no where to be found
I just want some coffee
Is that too much to ask
Halley's waitress
Is not up to the task
And when she finally appears
It's like she's been away for years
It's been so long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
So long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
Halley's waitress
Has vanished once again
She's talking to her agent
She's calling all her friends
Forget about the coffee
I'll just take a check
Halley's waitress
You know you'll get yours yet
It's been so long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
So long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Creep Hymn
The creep
Goes to a restaurant
And order the food to eat at the restaurant
But when the food comes he eats a little bit of the food
Just so he can taste it
And he tells everybody very loud that the food that he order
Taste like shit
And then he takes the plate and throws it on the floor
But he lives the restaurant without pay
The waitress from the restaurant looks everywhere for him in the Restaurant
Sorry waitress he is gone out of the door
And he run away so that you couldn't catch him
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Another Day
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy. her ass is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
the man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
snd you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
tip.
go to the register.
pay.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
they each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
they drive away first
they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
you start the engine.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Happens in the B.R. Families
'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Newport lie
That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap
An elderly wealthy guy.
His hair was graying, his hair was long,
And graying and long was he;
And I heard this grouch on the shore avouch,
In a singular jazzless key:
"Oh, I am a cook and a waitress trim
And a maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door!"
And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
And he started to frisk and play,
Till I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
So I said (in the Gilbert way):
"Oh, elderly man, I don't know much
Of the ways of societee,
But I'll eat my friend if I comprehend
However you can be
"At once a cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
Then he smooths his hair with a nervous air,
And a gulp in his throat he swallows,
And that elderly guy he then lets fly
Substantially as follows:
"We had a house down Newport way,
And we led a simple life;
There was only I," said the elderly guy,
And my daughter and my wife.
"And of course the cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
"One day the cook she up and left,
She up and left us flat.
She was getting a hundred and ten a mon-
Th, but she couldn't work for that.
"And the waitress trim was her bosom friend,
And she wouldn't stay no more;
And our strong chauffeur eloped with her
Who was the maid of the second floor.
"And we couldn't get no other help,
So I had to cook and wait.
It was quite absurd," wept the elderly bird.
"I deserve a better fate.
"And I drove the car and I made the beds
Till the housekeeper up and quit;
And the man at the door found that a bore,
Which is why I am, to wit:
"At once a cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waitresses
At a restaurant there are young girls
playing waitress
and with firm breasts
and long legs
sticking out of
short dresses,
trying to catch
anyone’s eye
They stand and talk together
near to entrances
and bend low over tables,
while they serve orders
in a way that men can see
their womanly curves better.
I wonder where
all their young girl innocence went,
while one stand at my table
with big eyes
and smiles as if
the sun sparkles in her teeth
and she looks shameless
inviting at me
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cattle Food
AN ELDERLY NATIVE WENT VISITING AT A CITY, AND ON HIS ARRIVAL, HIS HOST QUICKLY TOOK HIM TO AN EXPENSIVE RESTAURANT FOR A WELCOME MEAL!
WHAT WILL BE YOUR ORDER TODAY SIR? A WAITRESS ASKED THE CITIZEN AND HE REPLIED, MY USUAL WOULD BE IN ORDER! AND THE WAITRESS TURNED TO THE ELDERLY NATIVE AND SAID, SIR! WHAT WOULD BE YOUR ORDER? AND THE NATIVE REPLIED, MY USUAL WOULD BE IN ORDER!
THE WAITRESS ASSUMING THAT THEY BOTH WANTED THE CITIZEN'S USUAL PLATE OF VEGETABLE SALAD, WALKED OFF TO GET THE FOOD.
ON HER RETURN WITH THE FOOD, THE CITIZEN IMMEDIATTELY BEGAN TO EAT HIS FOOD, WHILE THE ELDERLY NATIVE SAT FROWNING AT THE PLATE OF SALAD PLACED BEFORE HIM, AFTER A WHILE, HE ASKED HIS HOST, DEAR FRIEND, WAS YOURS WELL COOKED? MINE LOOKS AS IF IT WASN'T EVEN COOKED AT ALL!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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I Dont Even Know Your Name
(alan jackson, ron jackson, andy loffin)
Well I was sitting in a roadhouse down on highway 41
You were wiping off some ketchup on a table that was done
I knw you didnt see me, I was in a corner booth
Of course you werent my waitress mine was missing her front tooth
So I flagged you down for coffee
But I couldnt say a thing
But Im in love with you baby and I dont even know your name
Im in love with you baby, I dont even know your name
Ive never been to good at all these sexual games
So maybe its just better if we leave it this way
Im in love with you baby and I dont even know your name
So I ordered straight tequila, a little courage in a shot
I asked you for a date and then I asked to tie the knot
I got a little wasted, yeah I went a little far
But I finally got to hug you when you helped me to my car
The last thing I remember I heard myself say
Im in love with you baby, I dont even know your name
Im in love with you baby, I dont even know your name
Ive never been to good at all these sexual games
So maybe its just better if we leave it this way
Im in love with you baby and I dont even know your name
The next thing I remember, I was hearing wedding bells
Standing by a woman in a long white lacy veil
I raised the veil, she smiled at me without her left front tooth
And I said where the heel am I and just who the hell are you?
She said i was your waitress and our last names now the same
cause i;m married to you baby and I dont even know your name
Im married to a waitress, I dont even know her name
Ive never been to good at all these sexual games
I never thought my love life would quite turn out this way
Hey Im married to a waitress and I dont even know her name
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast
Of all the meals that glad my day
My morning one's the best;
Purveyed me on a silver tray,
Immaculately dressed.
I rouse me when the dawn is bright;
I leap into the sea,
Returning with a rare delight
To honey, toast and tea.
My appetite was razor edged
When I was in my prime;
To eggs and bacon I was pledged . . .
Ala! the March of Time;
For now a genial old gent
With journal on my knee,
I sip and take with vast content
My honey, toast and tea.
So set me up for my delight
The harvest of the bee;
Brown, crispy toast with butter bright,
Ceylon - two cups or three.
Let others lunch or dinner praise,
But I regale with glee,
As I regard with grateful gaze
Just honey, toast and tea.
poem by Robert William Service
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Girls' Night Out
To our favourite pub in town, my friends and I, hurry.
For just over a fiver, we can order a drink and a curry.
From the bar, we grab our change and various drinks,
And there’s a loud chorus of ‘cheers! ’ as glasses clink.
At our table, we catch up on each others lives,
As a waitress brings each of us, forks and knives.
There’s a delicious aroma of food lingering in the air,
And my pangs of hunger, I almost can no longer bear.
We sit there chatting and laugh at each other’s jokes,
Whilst eyeing up some really dropp dead gorgeous blokes.
A waitress approaches, and puts our food on the table;
We’re starving and we all tuck in, as soon as we are able.
As we all get stuck in, our chatter is held, slightly, at bay,
Until the waitress returns, to clear our empty plates away.
I peruse the dessert menu and find myself unable to resist
Chocolate fudge cake, served with cream. Mmm! Pure bliss!
At the bar, I order my wickedly indulgent, calorie filled, treat,
And now feel happy and contented that my meal is complete.
I grab my purse as it’s my turn to buy another round of drinks.
Into the tall glasses, the ice cubes, dropp with a musical PLINK!
In high spirits, we decide to leave the warmth of the pub,
And head up town, to continue our night out, at a night club.
The DJ plays some fabulous Eighties retro dance tracks,
And the illuminated dance floor is almost constantly packed.
We’re soon on the dance floor, dancing the night away,
And, there, until the early hours of the morning, we stay.
By the time the club closes, we’re almost dead on our feet,
Having spent many a happy hour, dancing to the disco beat.
At the end of the night, we all head home to our beds.
We’re feeling happy, but very tired, it has to be said.
We tumble into our beds and very soon, we fall asleep,
And, from not a single one of us, is there another peep.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Perfect Coffee
she dance in front of me, in early morning suite,
before the Rooster crock in early shout of morning,
brows and feel then the coffee lies in the table with
a happy roost
comfort the night with that dancing lady, where
every inch of her hair, languish her leg just off the
bed to play, come admirable ecstasy wake me up,
full and squeeze the earth, grip my trembling heart
as you quizzed my neck into the earth seeking night
with nothing but gone of myself
I almost drawn, of the mixed emotion of sugar drops
in the coffee, wanted a perfect blends of boil water as
it fades away, oh! yes thanks to the table that hold
every cup, the party has to go like a merry go around
the table of free
now the sweet aroma of coffee brings a good
morning mist, with sugar dare coffee taste as old, the
same thirst the tongue requests; drink the leverage of
mate that holds, for each breath of lips that savour
the spell, lives the saving faith
a hot coffee for free, take it out or dine with thee ….
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Spit And Sawdust Pub
Jukebox on in the corner
a group of lads playing Pool
arrows being thrown at a dartboard
and a drunk acting the fool.
Loads of blokes in football shirts
watching a live game on the T.V.
a woman sipping at her Orange juice
while her partner knocks back Whisky.
Four chaps sit around a table
there playing three card brag
as one of them counts his winnings
the others go outside for a fag.
The pub gets noisier by the hour
words are now slurred due to the drink
some customers are now so drunk
they don't care what anyone may think.
Last orders is shouted out loudly
the landlord wants to call it a night
but before he can close the doors
he has to break up a drunken fight.
So that's a night in the rough house pub
as English as Cheese on Toast
a plate of Fish and Chips
or a good old Sunday roast!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Large
The quiet man exploded
like a termite full of
poison through the air
and on the table with
used napkins and a
quarter for a tip to
go to waitress who
had served the man a
tuna on a bread with
mayo sandwich and a
coffee and a jalapeno
chopped and mixed
with beans.
poem by Rick Stokes
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