Waitress

The moon was still full
as a bottle of un-spillable milk.
I worked the late shift at an all-night diner.

I had blond hair. A righteous ponytail.
A pad of paper and a pen that could decipher
every need in America.

Cravings for creamy and sweet,
salty and satisfying. I fed
the truckers and late-night drinkers.

Even the man in the alley
Who came up short by two quarters
And apologized for not leaving a tip.

Once someone asked for extra
whipped cream on pancakes.
I made a mountain,

a whole Himalaya
with one cherry on top.
He left me a twenty.

What is a job, but knowing
the secret desires of strangers?
How we budget

for our pleasures, ask strangers
for what we need. I could
be that someone,

Samaritan. Saint.
Goddess of a small universe, floating
towards your table with free coffee.

I balanced this world
like a plate of mercy
against my palm.

---

Tresha Faye Haefner’s poetry appears in many journals, including Blood Lotus, Blue Mesa Review, The Cincinnati Review, Five South, Hunger Mountain, Mid-America Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Poet Lore, Prairie Schooner, Radar, Rattle, TinderBox, and Up the Staircase Quarterly. Her work has garnered the 2011 Robert and Adele Schiff Poetry Prize, and three nominations for the Pushcart. Her first manuscript, When the Moon Had Antlers, is out from Pine Row Press. See thepoetrysalon.com.