the waiters stand on tables
atop planes of heightened glory
and they are a little closer to the angels
once their shift is up
the boss is trying to find god
in the tip cup
and we're all making faces
at the tired organ to sing
and show us "his gospel"

balancing twenty dirty dishes
while the forks and
the knives
fall one by one
each screaming during descent
and so in the end you're gathering up
cracked porcelain and
old china
and dented up utensils
while their eyes watch and decide

it's my life, she says
as she wrings the napkin
in her calloused hands
she's just went to find jesus
in the storage room
but girl he's somewhere in every bible
a streetscene in every year
he's what they call god
as if it all wasn't the same
as if it mattered at all.

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