A Rant After A Long Day

Elbow deep in Ranch dressing,
hot sauce, mashed potatoes,
and pieces of crayon embedded
beneath broken finger nails
who juggle boiling plates of
molten mac and cheeses;
thee rising smell of a hundred
dieing meals wafts up from the
industrial sized trash can
where uneaten rolls, untouched
steaks, salads and leafy greens
in every hue whither and rot
before being thrown out back,
food now fit for the desperate
rats and homeless who shuffle past
at night looking up at the dark
unlit faux-industrial finish
before dawn arrives and the
lines of Latin American workers
form outside the kitchens and
wash rooms of every American,
Italian, French, Thai, Gourmet,
Japanese, Indian, Chinese,
Sushi, German, Breakfast,
Deli, Buffet, Lunch, Dinner,
Diner, and restaurant in town.

The flapping sole of over-worn shoes
cries out as slipping across lakes
of ice and water and butter and grease
and Ranch
we hurdle through dining halls without
regard for our own bruised hips, elbows,
and shoulders around the diabolically
placed and menacingly curved edges
of tables and chairs and doors as
the screeching of children too young
to be brought into adult company
is followed by another geyser of
Cheerios, french fries, and pasta
as on hands an knees I crawl beneath
picking up, with torn and tender
fingers, every last Ranch soaked
crumb.