Standing on Bottles

(When I was in graduate school, I worked as a "night auditor" at several Oklahoma City hotels and motels. One hotel I worked for had a night club in it. One night I saw one of the waitresses at the end of her shift. She was "dead on her feet." I knew something of her situation: single mom, struggling to make ends meet, a typical story. I led to write this poem in honor of all such people.)

Standing on Bottles

Her hair is never in place and
She pulls it back over her ear once more as
She lifts the tray again which
now weighs as much as a manhole cover and
the Bottles have bottoms made of springs.

She carries the tray to
another group of lost souls with
too much time and too little purpose.

She depends on them for
Her pay.
The Rent
The Car payment
The Groceries and
The Child care depend on
This group of Bottles.

Then,

She is bumped by a drunken VP in a
designer suit and
The Bottles sway
And shift
The Foundation on which
She stands.

(Remember to tip your waitstaff at least 20%, more for great service.)