The Myths and The Modern [√]

[ the diner waitress ]

she gives you a half-smile
porcelain white against neon signs
the diner is stiff with shouts
from the back room, telling her
to hurry up to table number eight
what are we having?

full hips parked at your table
an open notebook, a pen in one ear
a dirty apron tied around her waist
the lingering smell of greasy fries
the menu balanced on your hands
and the world born on your shoulders

(it was a very long day for the both of you)

her laugh reverberates through your parched throat
her dust of cheeriness irritates your nose
her joy a cube of sugar in your bitter coffee
open, available, so undeniably human
ignoring catcalls and unwanted slaps
from truckers with oil-tainted hands and beards

your burger tastes pale and pessimistic
you leave without giving her a tip

(you are nothing but an immature kid)