The first night waitress laying menus on the table one after another
With anything but amiable sentiments verging upon impertinence
Without much civility she shrugs her finely molded shoulders
Looking quite presentable in the rose-hued light rampant rebel
With the grip of a woman who is deeply moved a field and surface
Of gold spontaneously arisen on a breathless evening in August
Acquiescent and admiring piquant but not of the mortal kind like
Alien life found in icy geysers on Saturn’s moons it’s hard for her
To understand our purpose the whole terrible business
Dealings that would not bear the light of day