My Breadmen's Poem

This is a poem I wrote about drinking coffee at Breadmen's.
I'm talking about the "old" Breadmen's, when it was on the other side of Rosemary Street.
I was heavily under the influence of caffeine at the time I wrote this.
This poem is dedicated to Chris, who was everyone's favorite waitress back in the 1980's, and was my inspiration.


The Waitress
with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe


Once upon an incarnation
while I sat in contemplation
over various situations
as I've often done before.

Ah, distinctly I remember
it was in that cold December
as I warmed my frozen members
over many cups of soothing caffeine
in it's popular liquid form.

While I sat there, slowly sipping
late at Breadmen's, thoughts were ripping
through my aquired, tired concepts
behind that glass and wooden door.

Fancy unto fancy thinking
restless souls with eyes a-blinking
continuing my coffee drinking
wondering what I've come here for.

Mysterious and curious
if not altogether serious
slowly sinking in delirious visions
of love, and death, and war.

Suddenly the fog departed
as if something or someone started
beaming through my broken hearted dreams
of old forgotten lore.

Yet I sat there not believing
what my eyes were there perceiving
phantoms of my mind were leaving
as reality spilled upon the floor.

For the lovely creature I was beholding
smiling sweetly, standing, holding
pot of coffee. (thoughts unfolding!)
Silently I watched her pour.

For I could not help believing
that no living human being
ever yet was blessed with seeing
a waitress of who's eyes could pierce
the darkness of one's inner core.

"Waitress," says I "I implore you
have an urgent question for you
lovely person I adore you.
Tell me truly what it is we've come here for?"

"For surely there's a purpose being
for our lives, a search for meaning
a reason to go on believing?"

Quote the Waitress
"Want some more?"

Silent now, I sat there sipping
something in my mind was slipping
I decide I should be skipping
this idea of asking such profound
questions anymore.

But the waitress still is serving
still is serving behind that glass and wooden door.

To myself, say "What the heck?"
I leave a tip and pay my check
then turn and open up the door.

Though my caffeined brain could not unfold
the ancient mystery yet untold
as I step into the dark and cold
I wonder still of what it is
I'm really searching for?

Cetainly there's something more!

In that night of late December
one thing that I must remember
is that certain glowing ember
in those eyes I so adore.

The smile of her lovely face
that passes on through time and space
the questions of the human race
and further mysteries to explore.

Return again another night
into that most familiar sight
with friends who say that it's allright
to contemplate what is in store.

Thus quote the Waitress,
"Want some more?"