She arrives
at his table,
wearing white apron
over black dress

Bends over,
and set the plate down,
Her lips,
close to his ear,

She gently whispers, “Enjoy!”

Turns back,
apron tied
smartly in a bow
against a curved hip

He bites into
the toasted multi-grain bread,
savoring the gift
she left behind,


The scent of Her breath
still hovers over his plate,
he lifts the glass of clear cool water
takes a sip, and is done

She returns–her pen protrudes
from her back pocket,
she lifts his plate,
leaving the table bare

“Will there be anything else?”

Looking deep
into her subservient eyes,
it is his turn to whisper,
“Just the check, please.”

— Abraham Menashe
© 2017