This Poem Was Written In Real Time…

The waitress took our order

With a smile on her face

And then apparently decided

To desert the human race.

More than half an hour later

We’ve killed a pitcher of beer.

Our senses are still present

Though the help has disappeared.

It’s midnight at the bar,

Then it’s one here at the grill.

Our belly’s good and empty

But our hope is holding still.

We’re waiting on our sandwich

And it’s 2025,

And the chef has just confirmed

That the waitress is alive.

My beard is grey, my hair is gone,

I drool and shift and snore…

Then the waitress comes out smiling

And she says “Five minutes more.”