The waitress

A poem written while in a coffee shop watching the waitress serve tables

The dim light on the ceiling
casting shadows of countless faces
that she served, that she smiled at,
as she lifted another tray
of overflowing cups and plates.
The dim light of the ceiling
fades away
only to be replaced, with a bright spotlight.
She no longer was a waitress in green.
She was the centre piece
of the most intricate juggling act.
Beneath her was a web of tangled strings
as she cycled on a unicycle
with heavy pins flopping through her hands.
At the end of each strings
was every facet of her life
trying their best to steal the spotlight.
Nevertheless she persisted.
With a smile that she managed to conjure
She asks, “Is everything all right on your table?”
and I lied
The same lie that we tell each other
“Yes everything is all good here”
while my heart screamed out
“I’m proud of you, it’s going to be all better soon”