Smirky,’ came my way
as worn looking as the towel
thrown over her arm

Folding hand over hand, she shouts
“Order up, order up.
Got to place that order!
We’re busy in the kitchen, can’t you smell that?”

(Buffer zone: I envision good food thoughts coating her.)

I say, “Now, I’ll take that fluke dish.
It’s got the ‘local sauce,’ right?
And with that, the softest of white wines.
Side of buttered corn, too. Will that come with the
soft bread? I’ll take that as well—a basket full.
Dessert—let’s see—those buttery
shortbread cookies look good.
And tea—chamomile—no peppermint for me.”

‘Smirky’ smarts, “That be all? OK.”

(Buffer zone: I envision the order arriving with
a newly-formed waitress.)

“Sir, here’s your wonderfully thought-out meal.
Such ease in ordering.
We don’t often get your style ’round here.
Can I show you the way to my place? After eating, of course!
I have a buffer zone out back where I receive all my
‘Customers of the Week.’ I’ll fuck your brains out, then
take your picture and place it here
on the counter.
And…thanks for buttering me up today.”