The Mundane

I write poems in my head
while taking orders at work
because, really, nothing else
is very interesting there.

Sometimes, I ask a question
twice because the poem
spoke louder than the guest.
"What to drink with that?"
But there's a boy
living in California now
who broke my heart, and I wonder
if he remembers holding my hand
as I stood on his window ledge
in the snow.
"What to drink with that?"