Tragedy Strikes At The Big-Rig Grill Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Bobby Bolt lost his napkin last night
at the Big-rig Grill.
He’d made his chauffeur stop
there for water to take his pill.

Driving back to New Jersey
from seeing La Traviata at the Met,
his heart began to murmer,
presaging an ominous threat.

Smirking at the stainless steel
tableware, he shoved it away,
while his paper napkin
slid under the salt and pepper tray.

Inquired Louise, the waitress:
“What’ll it be today, honey? ”
“A glass of water, miss,
and I don’t find that funny.”

“I didn’t mean to be forward, ”
Louise offered shyly.
“You’ve given me no napkin, ”
Bobby responded drily.

“This is atrocious!
The poorest service I’ve ever got.”
Bobby jumped up, stormed out
and passed out on the parking lot.

When Louise called 911
as she cleared the setting away,
she was startled to find
a paper napkin under the condiments tray