Applebee's Poem by Benjamin Mitchell
Applebee's
I know when I am being worked:
That sleight of eye, slight curve of lip
Yet, even then, I'm not quite irked
Even if 'twas for the tip.
I patronize her skill
As one who gives to street performers
It may be all for naught, but still:
I'm but a man; thus must adore her
And if that means twenty percent
Ought not such love pay all her rent?
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: love
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Half off appetizers never seemed so sweet.
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4/26/2024 12:09:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
