Scoundrels

The waiter appeared
to be uncomfortable
certainly distracted
a required smile but
no eye contact and
what seemed to be
a bruised cheekbone
like he’d been shoved
into an alley and beaten
he was after all
middle eastern.

Our food arrived
the wrong dish it was
somewhat similar but
not what we ordered
the manager overheard
and came to our table
to assuage the anger
we weren’t really feeling
he was sick and tired
of the cook’s mistakes
damn mexican.

So they were fired
berated and sent
packing without
thanks or paychecks
the cook and waiter
and the dishwasher too
and the man with the squeegee
and the Pakistani accent
who was doing the windows
he’d been doing for ten
years for ten bucks.

Fired too with a rude
waved of the left hand
the taxi driver outside
who used to be a doctor
in Iran and the coffee man
with his strange pastries
and the flower woman
who looked like a gypsy
all of them let go
and told not to come back
this is our town.

Scoundrels.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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