Nola, the big, red-haired waitress
making icewaters, has a customer, someone new.
He's mid-forties, stocky, his name is Marlin
and he doesn't mind the rain lately.
He orders a Baryard Buster and coffee.
It's dinnertime, but Tee Jaye's
is mostly a breakfast place.
He comes in every day.
He tips good and he never starts fights.
He works at the GM factory, he isn't married,
he has steak for a change on Sundays.
One Tuesday, Nola finds a letter
under his plate, addressed to her.
She reads it in the back
on her cigarette break. The letter says,
"I am looking for a wife. A beautiful, good
woman like you. I don't drink or play poker.
I go to bed early and work every day."
She stuffs the letter in her apron-pocket
and then, at home, reads it again
after taking off her hose.
No one has called her beautiful
for ten years, but she has sworn
she will not pick up another man's socks.
His phone number is at the bottom.
She doesn't call.
Marline doesn't eat at Tee Jaye's anymore.
Nola keeps his letter in the zippered
middle part of her purse.
She takes it out every few months,
to chuckle over, to wonder.