Sample Tray

You stand there, with your tray and smile

(how could I help but watch a while?).

You stand there, leaning on one leg,

your eyes dark

and lovely as a midnight dream,

your phone outlined

in your back right pocket,

your black hair in a bun.

You greet them all (for one example),

“Would you like to try a sample?”

You could sell me anything, I’m sure,

with those deep eyes,

those full lips parted,

the rounding of those hips

in those tight pants.

Sex sells.

Cynical corporate strategy, you could say.

(Why, yes I would like fries with that.)

You greet them all (for one example),

“Would you like to try a sample?”

But you’re not a tray.

You’re not a sausage biscuit

with a toothpick stuck through it.

You have dreams, you have hopes,

you have fears that keep you up at night.

Would you hold that tray so well

without an echoing deep within?

I wonder who you really are.

I wonder if I’ll ever know.

You greet them all (one last example),

“Would you like to try a sample?”