Pro Forma Once seated, we peruse the same Old menu by and by— Which dish (or special from the board) Would we most like to try? A waitress, new to us, shows up With water and “Hello”— We order wine; she asks, “What else?” We say, “We’ll let you know.” She finds the bottle, which she serves As nothing much is said— We take the chance before she leaves To make a bid for bread. She brings us some and butter, too, Plus oil, if we so choose— We have to ask for napkins and Utensils we can use. In time she does return to take More orders, if we please— A half an hour later she Delivers them with ease. Thereafter glasses go unfilled Since she cannot be found— Plates scraped, we wait and wait until She brings the check around. A credit card is then produced And taken hurriedly— The slip soon signed and left behind Notes due gratuity.
Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia (USA). Her work has recently appeared in Allegro, Delta Poetry Review, Light, Mezzo Cammin, and Vita Brevis. Her fourth collection with Kelsay Books is In or Out of Season (2020).
Grand Little Things 