The Busser

I washed off the grease and the gristle.
The clean crate of dishes I carted off.
Another gentleman ordered the juicy steak.
I washed away half of the steak,
the grease and the gristle.
Another woman ordered the fish salad.
I washed away half the salad, the steak,
the grease and the gristle.
Another gentleman ordered the chicken
casadilla, one part for him, four parts
for the floor, all washed away
the clean crate of dishes I carted off.

The restaurant was a live wire:
the people poured in and ordered more;
the forks and knives glistened with perspiration.
The gentleman tore the yielding cow flesh
while the woman in the bathroom puked
away the grease and the gristle.
Maximization to marginalization, the heart
of the gentleman served beating on a tarnished
silver platter, that I had to clean.
Half of a steak, half of a salad, four casadillas
and half of a gentleman's heart foisted into
a trash bag, lifted, jostled, set down untenderly
some fifty miles away from civilization.

The clean crate of dishes I carted off.