in the beginning...

First of all, she didn't want to be there.
Hanging out with her parents was not her idea
of a smashing good time but her dad
always sprang for Belgian waffles on Saturday
and she couldn't pass it up.
Belgian waffles were her passion
the only thing she ever ate that
she truly enjoyed.
She especially loved the way each square
held the melted butter
like a little pool of gold.
The first thing she always did was
dip her finger in the center square
and lick it off real slow
like foreplay before breakfast.
The waiter walked up with a slumpy step
head hung low, like a metal detector
searching for someone of equal intelligence.
He took their orders never writing
anything down, just looking from bowed head
through hung hair, and when all was said
and done he repeated them all back again
with every tone and inflection with which
they were spoken to him.
He lingered for a brief moment on the order
of Belgian waffles, noticing the way she
said, "With a jar of strawberry syrup."
The way her lips pursed at the ending "p" made
him falter for a second, something
he wasn't used to doing.
"She might not be intelligent," he thought,
"but damned if i'm gonna turn down a waffle lover."