Four months ago, sometime last fall, I began
drinking with the complete intention of drinking.
Binge drinking holding the complete intention
of being a waiter. What better way to wait
than to drink? I don’t recommend waiting drunk,
but drinking after, pass the time ‘til someday something better.

Waiting’s my job description and alcohol offers the best patience.
Resignation so thorough—I am the off-season,
glad that there are and these are no jobs; hospitality, tourism.
It’s like a cheap novel on a deserted island, or urinal graffiti.
You’re bound to read it, even if it’s not the same language.

Waiting tables, or serving as it is referred, is like
stanzas of forced rhyme or floor-spilt syrup. Decent money
on auto pilot if you possess bulletproof resistance to absurd cooks,
customers, and your boss annoying worse than a ketchup biscuit
overturned on your shirtsleeve—sticky footsteps.

I am different, I have set
a goal to wait tables and drink and write bad
poems successfully and listen to friend people
tell me the value of voting and reading all
of Harry Potter’s books, I will do neither.

Like me, most of my co-workers end up waiting to pay the bills
and drinking to fall short, and writing bad poems to make ends meet.
Unlike me: I have chosen to repeat the difference between home fries
and French fries to another customer—nothing,
or I guess seventy-five cents, pan fried or deep fried—
still potatoes. My dignity remains intact, I knew it would come
to this, once this may have driven me to roll my eyes.

People say they can quit anytime they want.
When do they ever say they can start waiting and full well
take everything that comes with it? The drinking
that is, not the answering of stupid questions.
If I keep at it, I could be promoted. I’m not opposed,
As long as it does not interfere with my drinking
Or my writing of bad poems; not much does, though.

That’s good, some pathetics say they drink to forget
and I say lucky to have bad poems to remember,
that’s why I wait full time, drunk serving bacon in verse.
It’s almost like I am a scientist, putting my body
through research, who said alcohol affects ability
to short order. I was completely sober when
I decided to become a drunk waiter. This not to be confused
with a dumb waiter, one who no longer answers
stupid questions. Pride in my work, without a doubt.

Making the best of my options, I have co-workers
who choose to work hard and wait sober.
They are happy to have nice things in exchange
for mirror-clean surfaces. Nobody comes up to me
and tells me I have dialed-in the skills to wait drunk.

Have I missed my calling? I hear of other jobs out there:
you have to wait your turn and binge drinking
is usually not in the contract fine print like it is
Waiting. Waiting for gratuity, waiting for the next order.