THE WAITRESS
Wet rag wipes the table
Serviettes wrap the stainless
Smile glued at the corners
She pretends it is painless.
It’s too hot; it’s too cold
It’s still raw; it is burned
The cook pays no mind
While the server is spurned.
Shifts short; she is part-time
Reliant on tips
She swallows her tears
With a smile on the lips.
Poet, Audrey Austin
This site is to honour my mother, poet, Eva Ruby Austin.
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