The Waiting Angel

I work in a restaurant, so I thought it'd be neat to write a poem about one of the girls I work with.

I sat down at the bar,

Wanting to let the sweetest words

I’d ever conjured

Gracefully and gallantly

Slip out of my soul

And woo her in that very heartbeat.

 

She walked by with a tray of drinks

Destined for a table by the hostess’ stand.

 

I drank my Jack Daniels

And set up my best semblance,

Thinking she’d recognize me flirting with her from

There, half a restaurant away.

I longed to swim in the serene fjords,

The bountiful seas of those blue eyes,

But rather plunged into the pools of her beauty that

Emanated from the lingering perfume

She left in the air

Just for me

As she passed my place once more.

 

The kitchen door swung wide again,

And she appeared out of it

Carrying another tray of food�"

 

I’d swear her feet never touched the floor;

Do angels dance or drift to their destinations?

A nimbus encircled and illuminated

Her tawny-yellow hair,

soft and eloquent as a silken tapestry.

I watched her walk away

And swore I saw wings under her uniform.

 

She said, “Hello,” just once as she passed by my barstool,

Smiling just enough to make me swoon.

 

I was dumbfounded,

Unaware of her return

Of all my flirting from across the building.

(Is it sinful to stare

At perfection so profound?)

I muttered a strange salutation and went about my whiskey,

Thinking of words to woo that would not awaken in my voice.