by Brit Herz

Created on: April 14, 2009

She looked it up and down

dissatisfied eyes were lingering on each idea

until with a sigh she asked what the soup de joure was,

I tried not laugh wanting to say

It's the soup of the day.

I tell her it's chicken noodle

and again she sighs.

She glares at her counterpart with such discontent

that my pity made me want to hug him

and tell we're not all this way.

"What are you getting, this place was your idea?"

He shrugs, "Just the soup and a salad please."

She orders a tuna melt,

just a little melt,

not so much that cheese strings from her mouth

to her sandwich,

on Rye toast, not wheat

with lettuce, crisp no brown

and one tomato.

with a side of coleslaw unless that cole slaw made this morning

then she will have rice.

I smile and walk back to the kitchen after giving her a new tea

because the water tasted like pennies

she said.

Within fifteen minutes the food is in front of them

the man never taking his eyes off his soup

and her

sighing so hard when her cheese started to string.

She counts her quarters to leave my tip

right in a pile of melted cheese.

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