The Maitre d' walks out of the catering hall,
long day gone for one and all,
rubs his face and feels his shadow bristles,
back aches and legs are swollen once again,
long drive home to nowhere,
then back again for another day,
of chaos, mayhem and disarray,
another party for the guest,
but soon now to home and rest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem