Ode to a Greek Food Prostitute #72

Today I bid farewell
to my days working
as a Greek food prostitute.

Farewell to the days
of half chewed chicken fat
wadded up in cheap
fancy napkins.

The end of free refills
and watching lovers 
sit closely in booths
ignoring the food 
they were never hungry for. 

Today was the last time
I had to serve coffee
to that man at the counter
that engages in conversations
with himself about the best way
to blow up the restaurant I work in,
all the while he calls me "Polly"
and laughs in another state
of dementia entirely.

Today I hang my apron up
and ask those that I served
to choke on that chicken bone,
cough up that pop that went
down the wrong tube

while I graciously forget to bring
them their check and slam
beers with the busboys in the
kitchen and tell them
how much they will miss me.