This is in my first book "Of Course," -- page 20 (108pp on Amazon now, $19; type "Allen Tice" in the search line), and I'm cheating fair by including it even though there's no food directly mentioned. The restaurant was on a nearby street & closed for retirement just before Covid-19. With a shock I realize I have no poems about food as such. What's wrong with little Allen? I'm so visual, auditory, aroma, and way tactile centered: food must be ahead. Come to me and I will bite. Back to reality:
PolyAnna
The waitress at the Metropole Café
Spoke Polish with her eyes, and walked in Greek
With feet that were entirely built in France
On shoes of fine Italian leather under
Subtle Japanese, as was the dance
Behind the menu. What language did she speak?
Sometimes English. Sometimes, I couldn’t say.
PS Stop kraken those jokes!
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