03-07-2014, 05:00 AM
1984 Re-interpreted
The soft looking waitress slid
the piece of French silk pie
across the table, filled
your coffee mug like you
were a recovering alcoholic
It was 3:30 am, it was 1984,
and she wore that erotic orange
serving outfit when she asked you
to hold your cup still up over
the pie; hell, holding your breath
wasn’t nothing like holding
a real woman
but when you came back
the next evening after Lit. finals
only to be told Julia had quit,
you wished there had been ways
to watch which way she had left
your life for good so you could follow
her into oblivion rather than return
to a real life
The soft looking waitress slid
the piece of French silk pie
across the table, filled
your coffee mug like you
were a recovering alcoholic
It was 3:30 am, it was 1984,
and she wore that erotic orange
serving outfit when she asked you
to hold your cup still up over
the pie; hell, holding your breath
wasn’t nothing like holding
a real woman
but when you came back
the next evening after Lit. finals
only to be told Julia had quit,
you wished there had been ways
to watch which way she had left
your life for good so you could follow
her into oblivion rather than return
to a real life