when the bartender has bronchitis and the flu

(waitress tending bar, a hostess and general waitstaff in and out)

"I'll make you a shirley temple, jack"
"please don't"

"see, you made everyone hate me"
"oh sure, jack, blame me!"

"pour!  no crazy margarita shake"

"I'm a waitress, I know how to make a long island and a grateful dead"
"there's a bartender here who can't make a grateful dead"

"who is this guy singing rihanna?"
"it had me confused for a second, I was like why do I know all the words to this song?"

"tell ya the truth, it's stephanie, she's o.c.d. about the way her bottles are set up"

"I just have a way with asian people"

"sasha's very good looking.  that's it, just good looking."
"he looks like one of those anime cartoons of a person"

"is he asian?"
"he's russian"

"shut up, you'll be feelin nice at the end of one drink so just enjoy it"

"time to wipe down the menus"

(couple fighting at the end of the bar)

"yeah, but you know shit"
"I don't"
"do you know more than what I know?"
"no, she doesn't tell me"
"you promise?"

title poem

tip of my tongue

I want to tell you

run for your life

drive my car

the long and winding road,

September in the rain.

crying, waiting, hoping

free as a bird.

oh! darling,

ooh! my soul,

help!

slow down.

mailman, bring me no more blues.

shout

good morning, good morning,

got to get you into my life

paperback writer.

here comes the sun

good day sunshine

girl, step inside love

and your bird can sing

blue jay way.

I don’t want to spoil the party

I forget to remember to forget

I’ve just seen a face,

I saw her standing there

searchin’

devil in her heart,

carrying that weight,

that’s all right,

nobody I know.

if you’ve got trouble,

we can work it out

I just don’t understand

what you’re doing,

what goes on?

tomorrow never knows.

because

I’ve got a feeling,

in spite of all the danger

it won’t be long.

you know what to do,

you know my name,

look up the number.

I should have known better

I don’t want to see you again.

think for yourself,

for no one,

one and one is two,

happiness is a warm gun,

komm gib mir deine hand,

don’t ever change.

she said she said

tell me what you see

the inner light,

old brown shoe,

rain,

etcetera.

here, there and everywhere,

watching rainbows

like dreamers do,

that’ll be the day.

(this is a cento poem, composed entirely from the titles of songs by the beatles)

self-portraits

here's where I'm comin' from

a monday kind of poem

put some shoes on, girl

you like my pose?

the one where I give a smoldering

stare to the distance,

sexy

you said,

voicing my thoughts

about your smile.

I would pose for you,

I’ve had practice,

I’ve got more than one friend

who I catch looking at me

like they could paint me from memory.

for you?

I would wear my shortest dress,

the red one I bought last week,

my highest boots, so I could hear the

exclamation of the zipper

drawn all the way down,

and my perfume on my pulse,

that egyptian jasmine will be all you smell

for days, weeks maybe

if you’re lucky.

I would lean over your shoulder

my hair like a curtain

ready to be pulled away

as I whisper

hey cowboy,

think you’re ready?