Waiting Tables

KELSI FOLSOM

I watch as beans from Ka’anapali
crumble into coarse sand.
4 Tablespoons are leveled off,
saturated with water just shy of boiling.

Honeywheat bloom sends me smiling towards my guests.

“Give it about 4 minutes
then press the plunger.
Enjoy your coffee.”
I walk away proud
of my confidence,
proud of my skill
to present and instruct.

I straighten my name
printed on plastic
and re-tuck the denim
slipping out
of black cotton.

“Order up!”
pulls my ear to the kitchen,
but I pause
as his stare finds a way
to un-tuck
what I’ve just done.

I fetch the slimy scramble
and the sweet, steaming pancakes,
Careful not to burn my fingertips
or linger at the counter.