[Editor’s Note: This is the 13th in a series of poems from “Body Parts,” Dr. Janet Hoult’s collection of poetry about aging.]
Eating Well
The waitress comes, or is it server
I’m not too sure what one should call her
She takes our orders, writes them down
And contemplates us with a frown
A quesadilla, add the shrimp,
Hold the peppers, they’re too limp
A BLT on rye bread, please
And two passion fruit iced teas.
She looks at us and takes our measure
As we anticipate our food with pleasure.
She brings our food and extra napkins
Just in case there are any accidents
She’s right, you know, we often spill
Our food on shirts and fancy frill.
Food on our spoons, our forks, our plates
It seems to think our mouths are gates
Our mouths swing open, not wide enough
And lose some food and other stuff
It drops on our chests, stomachs, and feet
We sure look great in what we eat!
Ms. Hoult, who lives in Carlson Park with her husband Charlie, may be contacted at HOULTight@aol.com
