'George'
He said of himself
Followed wind of success
Superiors' and slave
(Many do it here; they're lacking confidence, what a shame.)
He carried the plate
Back and forth
Full for the clients
Empty to kitchen
I saw him returning
Some food left on plate
I see him everywhere
His colleagues are mirrors
Scattered in kitchens, food corners
Swallowed a big bite
Like seagull
That's normal
One percent; 99
Some vomit the excess
Some dying of hunger
He's still a friend
He has met the success
He has house, marvelous
But still is Jorge
When I see the waiters
'Can they win like he did? '
I wonder when I think
Memories march in mind
(He waiter; I master.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem