Dad’s Favorite Restaurant
I forget the name of the place.
It was between two tiny towns
in rural Pennsylvania.
Dad didn’t like crowds
so it was his favorite spot,
since it was usually empty.
There’s a reason for that.
One time I ordered a chef salad.
Long after Mom and Dad were served,
we got our waitresses attention
who had disappeared in back
to read a novel or something,
and she said they were out of lettuce
so Jimmy went to get some at the local market.
My chef salad finally arrived,
fresh lettuce soaked in French dressing
with a few things sprinkled on top.
Mom and Dad waited patiently
while I ate the edible parts.
It has since gone out of business.
I wonder why.
Now, when I’m eating out and the order’s slow,
I say, “Jimmy must have gone out for the lettuce.”