My Waitress

One night, I took the waitress home.
I really couldn’t tell you why;
It wasn’t on my bucket list
Of things to do before I die

The only thing I felt, I guess,
Was between lust and loneliness;
And I can only now confess
The depths, then, of my selfishness

Why she said “yes,” I couldn’t say.
But recall as though yesterday,
The hope that I saw in her eyes,
That in dismay and with surprise

I knew meant she was wanting more.
A more I did not have to give:
I should have ordered some dessert
And kept my peace, and let her live.

But that was many years ago.
She has moved on, and so have I:
But once, I took the waitress home,
And I can’t really tell you
Why

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “My Waitress”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s