The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Roger Pfingston
Beside themselves with the urge,
Seeing that we had finished
our Double Pleasure, the waitress
hurried over, her sweet attention
the usual service in the China Star.
Very good, we said, nothing more,
thank you. I will return, she said,
with jungle kiss. We looked
at each other, puzzled,
trying to guess what might
sound like jungle kiss: not bill,
not check, not fortune cookie.
Maybe Uncle Bliss or something this,
but what might that something be?
And what could Uncle Bliss have to do
with our bill? I reasoned if they,
the Chinese, could come up
with an entrée titled Double Pleasure,
why couldn’t it be prepared by a
seasoned cook, affectionately known
as Uncle Bliss? And was he about
to make an appearance?
When she returned, bill in hand,
we considered telling her what
we had heard by way of asking
what she had said or thought she said,
but chickened out, fearing it
might be offensive. We left
feeling gifted, grateful, wishing later
we had lingered a while longer
to savor our linguistic serendipity
with a cup of plum tea.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication