No Tip

[68degrees]

the waitress returns, asks
if you are finished, is surprised

by your face-to-face emptiness, her
hands, no ring, red-chapped, a last drop

of condensation on the water glass
twitches, lingers, an unbroken slide—

a delicate capsule of time, so you nod,
want to ask her about the ravaged

beggar across the street with his card
board sign, his life forgotten, or how

her life is going, sad eyes, her grave
yard shift, an unspent vigor of youth—

instead she smiles, leaves your life,
and you watch her briskly whisk

away like a small child giggling
from a spare room filled with toys

[judih]

wow.

[edsiejka]

Excellent poem about what life is for the other side.

[68degrees]

Thanks.

Other side of what? ...and what are the sides?