Diary Of A Local Waitress

Poem By Eziudo Michael Nwachukwu

I see him.
He come that day for the first time
Since I resume work here.
I don't know why
I keep looking at him
But I'm doing so,
I can't get my eyes off,
I don't know if he know I'm looking
But he do not look me back
As like I'm looking
Only on the passive
Like you'll look ordinary somebody.

He order for his food,
I make sure I serve him myself.
I want opportunity to get close to him,
I get it.
His face is fair and fine and smooth
And looking like a baby's own,
I am liking what I see.

He is eating now,
I am liking his style:
Like mature gentle man,
The type you wish come home everyday and say
'Honey I'm home',
And you collect his bag,
And kiss his lips
And serve him dinner
And two of you go to the room.

But now he finish his food
And pay his money and go.
He do not talk to me.

I get home,
I am seeing myself thinking about him,
I am entering bathroom and bathing
And I am thinking about him.
I am looking at my naked body and touching it
And seeing all of me in the bathroom mirror.
I am saying this body will be being for him,
All of it, if he will be ask me for it,
But he is not here, he is not asking.
Maybe he will never ask.
I am not being his type or his class.
I am common waitress.
I will go to bed now and be sleeping.
When I will wake,
I am sure his picture will leave my mind.
But I wake up and it do not leave.

And three times in two weeks he come
And he go
And only me say to myself
What I say about him.
I take his food to him every time
But he is not talking to me.
Not at all.
He only will smile.
And I am getting furious.
I am asking myself to talk to him first.
But I don't want to talk, because I know,
I know that the one sentence that will jump out of my mouth
Will be 'Hey Mr., I like you.'
But it will shame me,
I will go and hide
And I will be praying
So he do not come to eat again.

He come again this night to eat.
He talk to the food disher.
I come quick so I can serve him
I do.
As I carry the food to be turning
And to go to his table,
As I take my head up to be looking in his direction.
I see it,
He is looking me.
His eyes are fine
And his looking can make your heart melt.
That is what is happening to me,
Even the tray want to be falling,
But I hold it,
I hold myself.
And now he remove his eyes
To look his phone.
I get to his table.
I drop his food
And he smile again as he will be doing.
But now he do not stop in the smiling,
He do something again;
He ask me my name
And I say I am answering Blessing,
And he say Blessing? Hmn'.
I do not ask him why he do that,
I can not ask him,
My body is shaking
Because my heart is sweet that he talk to me.
But me I smile
And I can not now stay there,
I will be falling.

He do not say anything,
He continue to press his phone.
I am looking at him.
In my mind I am saying
'Honey eat so that your food do not get cold'
When I say that
My mind is asking me why I am taking care of him
Like he be already the one that come home to say
'Honey I'm home.'
He be not.
So let me be careful.

He finish his food.
He call me
To bring him toothpick.
I bring it.
He smile.
He ask me
'Do you have a number? ' But I tell him no,
My number is in my phone that will be spoiling every time.
But he say 'Okay, see you later.'
He leave.
But I will copy Regina's number on the paper.
I will wait for him till he come again.

Comments about Diary Of A Local Waitress

Beautiful poem of love/infatuation. Please do read my poems " Hope" and " The beauty of death" Kingsley Egbukole

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