It's 2 a.m. at The Star Diner.
The waitress pours coffee
for the cab driver
at the counter on his break.
She banters with her customers
about politics and local gossip.
She's a new widow who never
had to work before,
with a few years left to retirement.
Her family has scattered:
A daughter moved across country,
her son joined the Marines.
The waitress raises a teenage son
alone and worries
that she's lost control.
She used to shop at elegant stores;
now she hurries home to wash
her uniform for next night's shift.
She used to buy filet mignon
from Sam the butcher;
now she serves franks and beans.
Customers have no idea
that their pleasant waitress,
who trades quips with them nightly,
is struggling to get by.
She is good at hiding her fear.
When she gets home,
she'll sit in the recliner,
rest her legs, and count out
the sparse tips from her pockets.

From Why I Miss New Jersey (CreateSpace, 2013).
Used with the author's permission.