The Other Woman Poem by ronald stroman

the Other Woman



my wife,
is starting to wonder,
why I'm eating at the restaurant,
as often… as i've started to.

i think my wife has gotten lazy:
in the way
she serves dinner,
with plastic cups & paper dishes.

if only she knew…

the Waitress always
lays it on the table,
that turns a simple "meal":
into a indoor picnic,
i really enjoy.

especially, when she gives me:
a real good "hard…" fork.