Danny D. Ford

Waiter Poem #10

you hear all sorts
in kitchens
tall tales
of chefs
their hands first
fire! fire! fire! 
mythical sirens
wailing through the ages
passed from employee
to employee
you hear 
of elite professors
& their imaginary dogs
about train drivers
speed stripping naked
of fathers pretending 
to be homeless
about the seemingly homeless
out of breath 
& blotched red 
losing their clothes
in the name 
of Christmas 

you hear of spice girls
in hotel rooms
& second hand 
cars that come with 
dinner plate sized 
of charge
you hear 
all sorts
of weird ass shit

and sometimes
you hear something useful
about wine

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