"I May Sound Shallow, But I Feel Like My Job in Life Is to Be Happy"

The server flirts with the cripple
Who radiates that confidence
That comes with embracing the worst

As if it were a long-lost cousin
To whom one bears a resemblance
But no more than to some strangers.

She would never call him that word,
In her uniform of black slacks, blue
Blouse, androgynous black necktie,

And carefully cultivated
Professional mannerisms,
Just as he would never mistake

Her flirtation for genuine.
Simplest exchanges are contracts,
As the two matrons sipping red

Wine in frail, enormous glasses
At the neighboring table prove.
They joke and praise each other well,

Raise their bell-like glasses gently
And toast each other leaning in
Like judokas for an arm bar.

We have to disagree to agree
On how to disagree, the price
We pay for peace and deception

About ourselves and our others
Appearing no more than a word
Of kindness, tension in our thighs.