She arrives
to his table,
wearing white apron
over a black dress

Bends over,
to set the plate down,
her lips, now
near his ear,

whispers, “Enjoy!”

Turns back,
apron tied
in a bow
against her curved hip

He takes a bite
of the multi-grain bread,
savoring the word
she left behind,


While her breath
still hovers over the plate,
he takes a sip of water
and is done

She returns--a pen protrudes
from her back pocket,
picks up his plate
and leaves a bare table

“Will there be anything else?”

Looking deep into her subservient eyes,
“just the check, please.”

— Abraham Menashe