Waitress Pad Poems


Penelope taught me to wile away the day

with masturbation and seltzer--

fill myself with fizz. Pretend

every little drop of rain is a dream

of a queen long gone.


I turned off the TV

to be alone with you.


This is a love poem, and it’s about you.


I want your hand to bite like

the gaits

and smiles of boys who are

newly men bite--

like sunburned shoulders

freshly showered

for dinner. Are you having

fun? My resting state’s

in love or in

New York or both.


I said god give me

a sign and she sent me

two in button-ups and

matching haircuts and

matching glasses,

and running shoes for

support, an anxiety

shroud woven with love.


Some bug-eyed fish babies. That’ll show us.


All I really want is to get paid

to write the word “fuck”.

Anonymous, Fall 2018

Artwork by An Pham

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Animations by Ava Bradlow