The Waitress

Her eyes spill over me,
under me and through me.
She leaves me
in the corner of the restaurant
with a menu.
Then it comes:
What can I get you?
Nothing.
And to drown in?
I’ll have a glass of water.
She writes my order
in bold melancholy,
smudging another black bird
across the sky.

Jaundré van Breda © 2020