Scuba Monkey
A poem by Sue Fagalde Lick

Scuba Monkey

When he limped in alone,
choosing a table in a dark corner,
the waitress with the ponytail
wondered aloud, “Hey, where’s your wife?”
thinking she was on a trip or visiting friends.

When she saw the tears in his milky eyes,
the cracked lips starting to tremble,
she wished she’d stuck to the specials list.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she said
and took his order for corned beef hash.

When she returned, she brought the man a gift.
It always worked with the little ones.
A stuffed monkey with a scuba mask.
He laughed, thank God, he laughed.
As she left, he was petting its furry head.

When he got up to pay the bill,
leaving two bucks and a plate of grease,
he carried the monkey under his arm.
She watched him get into his Buick,
strap the monkey into the passenger seat.

About the Author:

Sue Fagalde Lick, who lives in South Beach, OR, has published two chapbooks, Gravel Road Ahead and The Widow at the Piano: Poems by a Distracted Catholic. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Willawaw, Cloudbank, New Letters, Cirque, and other publications. She returned to poetry after many years working as a journalist in the San Francisco Bay Area, earning her MFA in creative writing at Antioch University Los Angeles at age 51. When not writing, she is a music minister and president of the Oregon Poetry Association. https://www.suelick.com. 

Poetry Breakfast publishes a new poem every weekday morning.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.

Follow Poetry Breakfast
Facebook