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Postmodern Village
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Your Waiter for This Evening Will Be . . .
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

the jaw
that's what she calls him beneath breath--across the booth
to me, knowing that his I'm about to bust clean out
of this Orville Redenbacher string tie attitude
is more than Bob Evans can possibly contain
within pot pies--steaming from the oven or no--
"chicken over turkey any day" he advises
to her whispered query

and he has a smile so angular
it splits his lip like a knife dividing belly; we both know
(male sympathies) he could get laid tonight
with no more effort than flicking lint from his Dockers

I want to shatter that grin with the proper fork,
crack that linear chin with a carafe
but I nod and say politely, "Thank you" as he brings
my dinner and takes my last shred
of machismo away with my half-eaten salad

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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