A bald waiter moves with silent grace,
Wiping down each coffee trace.
On the Causeway where footsteps blend,
He tends the tables end to end.
A flick of cloth, a tilted plate,
He works beneath the café's weight.
The city's hum, the clink of cups,
The morning slowly gathering up.
No spotlight shines, no curtain call,
Yet in his rhythm, dignity tall.
A quiet craft, no need for fame—
Just honest work beneath his name.
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ReplyDeleteWorking hard for his money.
ReplyDeleteWe all do
DeleteThis waiter might be a struggling actor working to pay his rent. Waiting tables is not an easy job, and is only rewarding in a high end restaurant.
ReplyDeleteBetter pay here than US
Delete...working for tips.
ReplyDeleteAussies don't pay tips
DeleteSe ve muy activo y haciendo el trabajo lo más rápido posible.
ReplyDeleteUn abrazo.
Concentrating at work
DeleteMuy preocupado parece que está el camarero.
ReplyDeleteUn trabajo muy sacrificado y duro. Tal vez no tenga un buen día
ReplyDeleteEvocative poem.
ReplyDeleteA delicate and thoughtful poem—beautifully composed and subtly evocative. I truly admire the gentle rhythm and quiet strength it conveys. It was a pleasure to read.
ReplyDeleteNot an easy job, but at least it gets life moving forward...
ReplyDeleteAdapted to warm weather.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful narrative poem and wonderful photo
ReplyDeleteThis is a lovely poem and wonderful photo.
ReplyDeleteDefinitely not an easy job pleasing customers.
ReplyDeleteHe looks happy in his job :-D
ReplyDeleteThe world functions because so many ordinary people go about their work with quiet pride. Wonderful shot, Roentare!
ReplyDelete