the waitress

how do you like your eggs,

the girl

asks me

as she stands with a notepad

in hand.

she's very pretty,

which she doesn't know quite

yet.

which is the best pretty

to have.

over easy, i tell her.

she marks that down.

coffee?

yes.

toast?

wheat, i tell her.

bacon?

of course.

she jots that down and away

she goes.

i watch her turn the corner

of the diner

and disappear.

i wonder about her happiness.

not mine.

with me it's all clear.