On Stage
By Michael Fetter
There once was a waitress,
Who longed to see the stage.
But the talent she possessed
Wouldn’t put a line on the page.
When first she set out to the city,
The sun held like a spotlight on her face.
Wolfish agents whistled she was pretty,
But like a fish out of water, her acting was a disgrace.
Mottled men slithered like worms
Offering jobs with green popularity.
They spoke such slime with eyes on her curves,
Claiming the position to take was charity.
Now twenty-seven, her face was not new,
Golden tresses were limp and dull snakes.
Skin sagged, like potato filled bags,
For good tips she gave her bottom some shakes.
On a weary day, as the sun had faded,
Her last customer had sated his hunger.
Another slimy agent, she put on a display,
But sorry to say he wanted someone younger.