She brings the most seasoned waiter

to humbleness

should she be served a sliver of lemon

with iced tea, with fish.

“Why do they serve such thin slices?”

It’s rhetorical, but I get caught, answer “I don’t know.”

“May I please have more lemon!”

The smoke of haughtiness swirls about him.

I recall my mother, father and I having dinner

she and I sit in the booth facing him.

He sits back, watches as she holds half

a yellow universe in her hands, slowly sprays

between her fingers, wet stars over sole.

I look at him watching her, his eyes

connect to mine. He smiles, says

“I just love to watch your mother eat.”

               --Bonnie Thompson Enes