Changing Of The Waitress Poem by Randy McClave

She sometimes serves me my lunch;
Then sometimes she will serve me my dinner;
She always makes me feel so special;
That sometimes it causes me to feel like a sinner.
When I order a drink, she will give me a wink,
And if I order a dessert, with me she will always flirt;
Then when I smell her sweet perfume,
She knows more food I order to consume;
She makes me feel so strong and very able,
Especially when she is waiting at my table.

She sometimes shows me her cleavage;
Sometimes she’ll give me her special smile;
Sometimes I don't care how the food it tastes;
But, I must say she makes me feel worthwhile.
When I order more food, she says I am looking good,
When I order an extra treat, she then calls me sweet;
And when she takes down my order,
She is inside my own private border;
As she is waiting at my own personal booth,
I am in love with her, to tell the truth.

She is now waiting at another table;
She is now flirting with two other gents;
Now I think I have figured out her scheme;
She was flirtatious only for my dollars and cents.
They order from her a drink, she gives them my wink,
Now they order an appetizer, I now feel like a miser;
Was she ever at all interested in me,
Is all that she cared about was her hours and her fee;
Did she not care about my work or my latest trip,
Is all that she really cared about was the size of my tip.

She is cooking me my breakfast;
And now she is flashing me a satisfied grin;
She is now serving my eggs and biscuits upon my request;
And I am at not at a restaurant or a country inn.
I ask her for some water, she tells me it's not a bother,
I then ask her for a slice of cake, which for me she did bake;
She sits besides me and asks me how was my day,
And for my breakfast and a tip she said “no! ” for the pay,
She informed me later she will be cooking me my supper;
My caring new waitress, it is now my own dear mother.

Randy L. McClave