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

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

She whispers, “Enjoy!”

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

He takes a bite
from the toasted multi-grain bread,
savoring the word
she left behind,


Her breath still hovers
over the plate,
he takes a sip of cool water
and is done

She returns--pen protruding
from back pocket,
and lifts his plate
leaving the table bare

“Will there be anything else?”

Looking deep into her subservient eyes,
“Just the check, please.”

— Abraham Menashe
© 2017