A Poem from Janet Cannon's  Poetry Room at IsleWrite.com


she's been my waitress
for four years each morning
with a heated nut roll and
coffee she brings without
asking to the creature of
poison habit...my sugar-fix

about every six months
she wears her husband
on her cheek in the form
of a black eye or split
lip like some light weight
boxing champ bruised after
a bout she's just lost

i want to hold her
tight and tell her to leave
him that he won't that she
deserves that she can
that being alone that even
the children she's already

but i read my newspaper
not saying a word
except intermittent thank
yous as she refills my
cup and i tip her well
knowing i haven't tipped
what i'd like to spill

Poem by  Janet Cannon

Previously published in
New Blood
Nada Poems.