The Waiter at Limoncello

the waiter knows
what we want, intuitive
and savvy,
he's been here three summers
now, working the tables
inside and out
at the Italian restaurant.
he's efficient and polite.
his wild hair,
brown and blonde
by the sun is bunched
up
in a knot upon his head,
he's tanned
and young. a surfer perhaps,
a boater?
he points to the pastas,
one for me,
one for her.
right? he says, smiling.
yes.
we say and shake our heads,
closing our menus,
asking how did he know.
I just do, he says.
I just do.