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
Nada Poems
New Blood