By: Mary Gregson
“Please wait to be seated.”
The entrance sign reads,
So you wait,
You wait,
You wait.
“How many of you are there?”
The waitress asks,
Then follow me,
She says,
Follow me.
She thought you’d like a table next to the window,
Next to the birthday as well,
The arguing businessmen catch your eye,
You really have no choice though.
So down you sit,
“Would you like any drinks?”
Yes please I’ll have wine,
And I’ll have a spirit.
“I’ll go get them now!”
She rushes off,
So you wait,
You wait,
You wait.
You order your food and again ask for the drinks,
It’s busy today,
So you’ll cut them some slack.
A waiter brings you food and winks,
He makes a joke,
“I hope your night is going swimmingly!”
Then he gives you your seabass,
You don’t like the bloke.
“Any more drinks?”
No thank you sir,
Then tuck in,
He says,
You do.
You hate to admit that the food is nice,
Then your drinks arrive,
Your opinion is rising,
Then you remember you’re scared of the price,
That soon the bill is impending.
“Is everything okay with your food?”
You’ve just taken a mouthful of vegetables,
So your answer’s not what you’re intending.
“Good I’m so glad”
You gesture to him,
One more second,
You chew,
You chew.
The businessmen moan about figures and stocks,
They’re so loud you can’t block them out,
You know where they work,
They work in the Docks.
Then the birthday party starts to sing,
“Happy birthday to you!”
You roll your eyes and ask for the bill,
You’re bloody dreading the thing.
“Here you go sir”
You unfold the paper,
Your heart sinks,
It sinks,
It sinks.
It sinks so low at the price on the page,
You’re back in your overdraft again,
Who knew a seabass could be 20 quid?
But still it must be paid.
The waitress approaches and takes your card,
“Anything else for you today?”
No I’m broke, you say, in London having
No money makes living hard.
“Well have a nice evening!”
You hear as you leave,
You nod,
You go,
You go.
“Did you enjoy the meal?”
He asks on the street,
You say yes,
I did,
I did.
Wells Street Journal 