but who will not move & just watch me get on my hands & knees

to retrieve their napkin? where are the people who will sit & stare

at me struggle with four of their friends & their cuff links

at me in a dress on a cement floor? who will think they can

rightfully lose patience with me when i forget something

inconsequential? who will sigh at me with closed eyes & say

just bring me a fucking martini & then i have to—

who will i limp away from now?

when my nicest table in weeks says to me, oh, you write poetry?

like i always say, go out to eat, & you’re supporting the arts,

can i rewind & not believe them? can i say, i’d rather buy a record

instead, i’d rather tell my friend they’re talented, or read a poem

on the internet, or watch a movie, or donate to a theater

the truth is i was terrified, my whole life seemed propped up

by waiting tables, three jobs with barely cohabitating schedules

& me sucking in whole lungfuls of air whenever i could remember to

& taking power naps at three in the afternoon after teaching

to make sure i’d make it through my closing shift at the restaurant,

i had to plan the night i could see your new movie three weeks in advance

& maybe it’s weird, but i know

you don’t want that for me

i just know it

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