The Platonic Waitress Poem by Rhys Owens

The quick are ever-willing, in short skirts and fake jewelry more real
Than the real thing, to be friendly for the sake of being friendly.
The lively sprite, light-footing through the aisles of tireless demands;
No one here is rich, no one here is important―pointless herd rabble.
Come, sit with me for a while, slack off your worthless work.
Use me for my money, as I use you for free....Tell me, talk
Of dreams and memories, short stories and long, tall jokes based on
Events taking place, right here, at this table. I don't care if I'm wrong
About you, I'll always believe you care. And I'll never truly know.

There is no righteousness, you are lied to by those that say
That they are what they're not. I'm lonely, a lonely patron;
There is no evil, no target to escape from, but sit with me.
Discuss the ancient philosophies in the tongues of our modern gags;
Let me flirt with the soul inside of you, over a seven dollar tip
And a borrowed cellphone―forever turned on,
To prevent me from kissing you if I get too drunk on my love.

No, I disagree, personally I think a rabbit can talk, given
The proper circumstances. All this give and take
Will keep you here forever. I can't understand why you don't believe
That I can sit here and never let you go away.
Don't you know my game now? And see that it's fair?
That I only make you stay if you feel it's what you want.
Though you know it's not possibly what you want.

But I'm not the kind of person to let you off the hook
When I've got you on the phone. I know when they go
They seldom ever come back. I've kept watch over a graveyard,
At night.―I've paid close attention during the day.
I know, sweetheart, we're lonely for a reason. Though
Your loneliness is never the same as mine. Your heart's too sweet
For the public not to drink your blood, from time to time.
But, you know, all my blood is mixed with that...