The restaurant is a drama.
Director, marching about,
pompous as a fat rooster
Hands behind his back as he
Strolls, barking orders to his
stagehands who are darting-
silent and quick-
black and white flashes reflected in mirrors
Under false candlelight
dressing the stage in linen and
arranging the crystal props.
Chef is the unseen star with his
supporting cast
Inspiring awe with his art
not soon to be forgotten by his audience
that trickles in and out for hours with
Plastic breasts spilling out of
tackily expensive dresses,
artificially bronzed skin and beauty,
bought from a surgeon, that cannot quite hide
the rude and childlike behavior
of the man puffing cigar smoke
in the face of the valet
or the woman spraying perfume down
the front of her dress
as the hostess pretends not to watch
but is secretly horrified
at the unladylike display.
They are extravagantly dressed children
in their oblivion to reality
as the cast and crew give them a lesson
in grace and sophistication.