Between the idle talk and angled precepts I sip a clever wine,

Between the idle talk and angled precepts I sip a clever wine,
Getting close to strangers becomes easy with wine and sooty air,

Passing plates to hungry guests, I see the server's shirt tail,
They work on their toes for cash, and they live for smoke breaks,

Hatching ties and drawing lines of conversation is hard when I see pain,
In the tentative eyes of a server-showing mileage on their backs and shoes,

If they wear their hearts anywhere its on a hanger in the back,
Valeting their dreams they check their shirt sleeves at the door,

But dusk dawns a whole new night to gain back their verve and spirit,
To let them claim the dark air for their own justifications, I tip well.