Crumbs on the table.
Crusty bread breaks apart, ripped
leaving crispy brown remnants
spread across the white table cloth,
thick, starched, cotton.
The waitresses, tall and bronze in the soft light
(a flickering of table-placed candles),
white collared shirts popping open
across ample breasts pert with youth,
and black pants accentuating round fullness,
white aprons pulled tight,
dim shadows hiding bright eyes,
and a practiced sway of hips.
Cappuccino, cinnamon dusted foam,
draws bitterness inward, hot on the tongue.
Copyright 2003 by Peter A. Stinson.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.