waitress poems

Saturday, July 30, 2005


The first time you took me out
in your fast car
I felt the cold, the whiplike
touch of speed, sex's awkward jitterbug
snapping steel fingers between us.
You warmed me with her fox jacket
which lay in the backseat
like a sleeping child.
It's a fake, you said,
in deference to my animal sensitivity.
But as soon as I put it on
I felt the fox
still breathing inside it.

Since then I have come home
to sleep in her canopy bed--
the actress whos big break came
when the star leaped from
a window.

I think she is my mother,
this fox who sings to me
long after you fall asleep,
who urges me to dress warm on cold days
helping me into the silk-lined coat,
they made from her hide.

I think she is my sister,
this star
who disappears whenever I try
to learn her secrets--
a flash of red fur
free as fire, free
as my breath burning holes
in the stillness of this room.

first appeared in The Beloit Poetry Journal


  • This is an interesting shift from the subject in the eginning and that of the ending... I think I need to chew on this one a while.

    By Blogger Erin, at 8:34 PM  

  • Love the way this transports you about, while the ghost of the first wife lingers

    By Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson, at 7:10 AM  

  • You have to really go deepin this poem to be able to capture it. As the reall of the humanity lays deep within the ribcage our hearts

    By Blogger iamnasra, at 7:31 AM  

  • "But as soon as I put it on
    I felt the fox
    Still breathing inside it..."

    Brilliant. Not to say anything less for the rest of the poem. I will stop reading anymore of your posts for today, because very good poems tend to get get me intoxicated !

    I will come back and relish the rest, in leisure.

    Thanx for making my day.

    By Blogger sigmund fraud, at 8:26 AM  

  • Our paths have never crossed; I found you inadvertently, because we were both listed under the same search-engine keywords for waitress poems.

    I like your work.

    Keep on keeping on.


    By Anonymous antisocialist, at 12:58 PM  

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