the waitress

there was no room for more,
and yet more there was.
bunk beds in every room.
the basement too.
the one bathroom
suffering with overuse,
the hot water soon gone,
a tired line of small
children
out the door.
and the mother,
still in uniform,
on the sagging blue
couch, with cushions
and a dog
at her feet
sleeping next to a
filled ashtray,
a stack of coins
milk money,
she neatly made
when getting home
at three.