This week let’s write a restaurant poem. It could be about the food, the customers, the ambience. It could be about a fancy place with tuxedoed waiters or a dive where you’re worried about finding a roach in your french fries. It could have nothing to do with the restaurant and just be set there but whatever you put on the menu, post it in the comments below.
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Living Poetry 
The Woman Owned Cafe
The small cafe was empty
but for two women and myself,
a cashier, sturdy, carefree,
flat-shoed waitress,
swishing a cloth across the table top
with flair.
I paid and tipped the moiety;
Three women, free,
golden in prosperity,
as country set aside,
with freedom grown sleek,
like the hair of a virgin
given in marriage
before she is twelve.
I do not carry my Grandmother’s name
Whose blood
wet this ground for me?.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Posted by ts19page | September 12, 2022, 10:17 AMExcellent! Love those final three lines.
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 12, 2022, 8:21 PMThanks for the feedback!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | September 13, 2022, 9:12 AMI think just a little tidying and this one is ready to submit for publication.
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 13, 2022, 7:23 PMYes, it does need an ‘a’ in the 10th line. As for ‘publishing’ it’s a jungle out there. (Or maybe better expressed as the front line in a war.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | September 13, 2022, 7:29 PMJungle is a better metaphor than war. There are so many trees and only a few bear fruit but when you find one, it is ever so delicious.
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 13, 2022, 7:31 PMI am sure the taste of fruit can still be sweet, but my machete is dull, my map moldy, I seem to have lost my safari hat, and my trusty guide has succumbed to ophidophobia.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Posted by ts19page | September 13, 2022, 7:40 PMStrong characters, solid story line and timely Call To Action Question. pardon this pun– hearty fare at The Woman Owned Cafe
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by william h mollohan | September 13, 2022, 3:02 AMLikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 13, 2022, 8:47 PMMeat eating, sexual attraction, death of one as food for others, blood as life…sounds like ‘the beat goes on’. (in endless cycle).. in the sober observer’s eye.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | September 15, 2022, 8:13 AMTaking Chances
She goes to her local restaurant
with no bookings
all days of the week
Most days she is accommodated
Busy days, she refuses to leave
Instead
she keeps waiting
hoping someone, some group
take pitty on her
and willing to share a table
She will repay such kindness
by taking care of the bill
big or small
She doesn’t care
The money is so insignificant
comparing to the company she gets
The only company she gets
LikeLiked by 2 people
Posted by Cassa Bassa | September 14, 2022, 6:11 PMNicely done. As a very introverted person and one who used to dine alone in restaurants regularly, before the pandemic, I can’t image that point of view. Thank you!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 14, 2022, 11:11 PMI imagine myself like that if I get old and have a bit of cash to take care of the bill… I am an introvert too. Now I work with people and with family, I want to be alone all the time. Maybe in the future I will value company more. 😅
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Cassa Bassa | September 14, 2022, 11:37 PMMaybe. It’s difficult to image though.
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 14, 2022, 11:43 PMSitting at a window seat
in the restaurant before time
savoring what will be starlight
waiting for the first dawn of the first day
waiting for the creation of something separate, night
when a preview of what may come to be passed by
I asked the waiter what it was
a salad of cut alfalfa, onion grass and cold watermelon rind he replied
I have no idea what a salad is
but I can’t wait to find out
LikeLiked by 2 people
Posted by Chris Clarke | September 15, 2022, 10:47 PMLove the line “savoring what will be starlight”. Well done!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 15, 2022, 10:57 PMIt is a well-oiled machine
Rapidly firing every cylinder
Pumping pounds of horsepower
Fuel dissipating quicker each second
It is a high output computer
Equipped with generous memory
Self-updating code instantly
With a fine-tuned processor
It is a kind and loving family
Holding you up high
More laughter than one can fathom
Substantial connections made
It is a grenade without the clip
When dry cylinders clatter
A glitch wipes the memory
Laughter transforms to anger
It is a balance board teetering through time
It can flow smooth as water in the creek
It can ignite as the heart of the inferno
It is a restaurant
LikeLiked by 2 people
Posted by SummerGal06 | October 21, 2022, 10:51 AMVery interesting. I’ve never worked in a restaurant but I think I understand now, thanks to your poem. Well done!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | October 21, 2022, 6:54 PMThanks 😄
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by SummerGal06 | October 21, 2022, 8:06 PMVery impressive and observant…..keep up the good work.
LikeLike
Posted by Aalekhya | November 2, 2022, 1:51 PM“Food Chant”
A “Restaurant” owned by my aunt,
Named it as food chant,
Looks hutty, serves nutty eggplant.
Attackers waiting outside are -a rat, a mouse and an ant.
Wants to take the day off but she can’t.
“My order?” “my order?” “my order?” is the rant.
She is old but running with a pant.
Each dish of her is complaisant.
She keeps saying she needs an assistant,
But every time someone comes they aren’t brilliant.
The best dessert at food chant,
is croissant.
She doesn’t serve the noodles that are instant.
She wants the place to be elegant,
By food, by service and the servant.
10 windows have the view of the same plant.
I want to leave and play but she won’t grant.
Lord please save me from the hunt,
She is crazy but still my aunt.
And one day it will be my restaurant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Aalekhya | November 2, 2022, 1:44 PMHa! Very amusing. Thanks for sharing!
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | November 2, 2022, 5:52 PMThank you, this is the very first poem I ever wrote 😂
LikeLike
Posted by Aalekhya | November 2, 2022, 8:56 PMI’m impressed and very proud that one of my prompts inspired your first poem. May it be the first of many.
LikeLike
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | November 2, 2022, 10:56 PMThank you 😊 Amen🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Aalekhya | November 3, 2022, 1:37 AMCute poem! I like the persistent, never giving up, rhyming.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by ts19page | November 3, 2022, 1:20 PM