When I ordered Welsh Rabbit, a rabbit wasn't included.
The restaurant ripped me off, that was what I concluded.
All that I was served was some cheese on toast.
I soon learned that the chef wasn't a nice host.
I wanted a rabbit and that was what I demanded.
He threw me out the door because he said I needed to be reprimanded.
i was upset at that chef so I decided to enter his restaurant again.
When he was through I thought they'd have to call my next of kin.
He burned my **** with his stove and hit my head with a frying pan.
I soon learned that when that chef gets riled, he's a dangerous man.
If you order Welsh Rabbit at his restaurant and ask for a rabbit, he will say no.
And for your own safety you should leave his restaurant peacefully, just let it go.

I felt so happy. I was so excited. Me and Xavier had been invited to a double date with some of our long time no see friends. Liam was bringing his girlfriend, and Carter was tagging along. It was full of kisses and couple pictures, spilled popcorn and fights over cinema seats, murmures whispers to one another asking who the hell had forgotten to boy some water. It was fun. It was really fun. We went bowling after the movie and I was nervous. I had only gone bowling once and I was awful. But I felt confident enough to play. Confident enough to play and massively fail. Note to self: you are awful at bowling. But so did Leah. We were all making jokes, checking who had won in the other lanes, jumping and dancing in those uncomfortable mandatory shoes. I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out. And we got hungry. So we went to eat. To an overly priced pizza restaurant, with neon lights and old rock playing in the background. Carter was screaming for water as Leah and Liam made out in a booth. Xavier and I, we just stared at them in disbelief and apologized to waiters who passed by. The food came. And we ate. We ate like we had never had food before. I wasn't scared to eat in front of them. I wasn't scared to eat. I was so proud of myself. As soon as we finished I went to the bathroom. But on the way there I saw a table looking at me from the corner of my eye. With all my past relationships I didn't want to look directly at them. But an old review makeup mirror did the trick for me. And there I saw them. In a corner table sat a group of about fifteen people. A group of people who made my life impossible back in the day. I saw my ex. My abusive manipulative ex. The ex that started everything: from my self harm to my eating disorder. I saw the girls who made fun of me at school. And I remember the years of bullying I went through. I saw all the girls who abandoned me and turned their backs to me just because someone else came along. A better version of me. One that wasn't scared to go eat out and preferred walking around town to sitting in a living room playing video games. So. I kept walking. I didn't bother looking back. I put on a firm look to try and hide my shaking hands and teary eyes. and I made it back to my table. But Leah, my poor Leah, she couldn't have chosen a better day to start her period. So I went with her. I had to. She needed help. As she sorted herself out I looked proudly at my makeup in the mirror. But then I saw. I saw them moving, walking towards me. All of them coming in at the same time, blocking the door for me to escape. They might have thought I was alone in there. As they looked at me top and down, Leah stormed out of the toilet saying how the boys were waiting for us outside. And so the only thing they were brave enough to do was ask me if the toilet was free. If they could go in. And they said it with such disgust that the only thing that was left to do was for me to laugh. And that's what I did. And with the fear in my veins and blood rushing everywhere I grabbed Leah's hand and left those ******* with the remains of my fake but honest laugh. I would have punched them. I really wanted to. But it's not my place to start hell in a restaurant toilet.

It's been about a week since the divorce finalized.
Sleep has fled my eyes, and I've wanted to cry
So emotional tension can leave me and let be myself and I.

Is there any other reason to steer clear
Of my co-worker's relationship troubles and fear
While on the outside I smile and pretend to hear
Than to continue being friendly over a beer?

At least I've got a financial break.
I've got a lot of money to make
Waiting tables for five days. It can take
A lot out of me, but it's worth the physical pain at stake.
My knees are sore, and my feet might break
From all the walking. And from putting up with all kinds of stupid requests and complaints
It's a wonder I don't get baked.

At the end of the day, I may not thrive,
But I'm lucky I still got a will to survive.
So this Thanksgiving week I didn't crash drive
When I could have, and it makes me glad to be alive.

The kid with the beard and the ***** apron,
he's just trying to make it.
His shoes have small tears on the sides,
from the way water saturates and weakens the material.
He’s got this way of gliding from table to table,
the same way a dancer owns a stage.
He slides plates of salt-ridden tacos currently in vogue
to a roomful of overfed, undersexed office drones

A woman in a skirt and flip-flops rolls her eyes at a salad.
A ******* in a blazer flicks a ****** under the table.
Still, there's a twinkle in the kid’s eyes,
like he's on the make.
If the right circumstances unfold
he’d snag a loose twenty
from a wallet or a purse.

This is the server's life,
always under the thumb,
hated and stressed,
but always laughing
at the end
of each shift.

i remember going to sizzler
with my mom and my 2 brothers
and some random guy and lady---

all at the table.


and she'd load up the tray with dinosaur nuggets
and cabbage
and parsely
and split pea soup

and swirly icecream

of which you could fill a bucket and

only get a light scolding from the waitress with her 4 freckles.


i'd eat that stuff,
and there'd be faint music and clinking

and dishes breaking
and children laughing and crying

and burps from old people

and farting
from overzealous husbands
who would proclaim flatulance as being a sign of
gratitude for one's meal in
China


if you've ever heard.



and the carpet would be drenched in animal ****

and the air
thick will fillaments
and greasy dust--

and my eyes would water,
and the memories
would be a haze,


but it was always rather pleasant.


and the best part was the red ballon with the 'S' logo.

and it'd pop usually upon arriving home after you sit on it or something like that---


Then many years later
i went back with a friend
and his dad who happened to be pretty drunk
and we were listening to Lennon's "Wheels Go By''


and the waiter
was younger and better looking and had less disdain--

and i just got chocolate icecream.


but there were no swirls.

the swirles were long gone.

dead even.

dead .


and then i flicked my ciggarette into an immaculate ashtray

and a few ladies
talked about the lunch specials.

and my stomach gurgled
and we went
to ihop instead.

He doesn't know what his purpose is.
Does he even have one?
Is he a giver?
A taker?
What is it?
All he does now is wash dashes in a nasty restaurant with cheap, foamy soap that barely cleans the dishes.
Not that anyone would notice that.
He doesn't want to live this way forever,
But his bad luck is ceaseless.
There's no way that something good would happen to him.
At least not in this life.