Tips

“May I,” was her rote lead in,
the intro to her service performance
while her mind danced
on a stage from night waltzes
in between orders and giving checks.

It was the voice that stung her mind,
how could she ever forget
that monotone southern accent
the one that spilled English grammar lessons
over her mind like syrup,
slowly and sticky so she never forgot.

The years had added to his girth
turned his hair gray,
but it hadn’t ruined the tone in his words,
so precise and clear,
yet he didn’t see a former student,
one that his red marks on her papers
never once had a single light of hope.

Suppressing those memories
she took her order,
not willing to reveal her past
while resisting the urge to vent
the flashbacks of resentments.

Calmly she serves him his meal
keeping her face subdued of any tensions,
for the secret she had kept
will give her a joy to outlast
the bite of the past.

After he leaves she collects his tip,
was much, but she it was still more benefit
that she got from his classes.

What irony perhaps,
today she was celebrating in part,
heard from a publisher that her book was accepted,
soon this waitress life will pass
this existence will be transplanted for book signings.

She puts the cash from his tip in her pocket,
finds a smile and goes back to serving others,
savoring her silent victory was enough for now.