When as tender as your stomach feels…

and work is fowler than the mood to play,

sleep was broken more than the eggs 

you’d serve and we call it another day,

the stress alone can leave you restless…

so damn moody that milk would soon sour,

the minute hands on the clock seem to stop…

up to your ass slamming plates to the last hour.

It’s just another line-dog musical…

the kind to make most men howl,

when steak and eggs a minuet…

where the dinner rush a suite of sweat,

the kind thats leads cooks to scowl,

the symphony plays on despite the

tired state, the sonata of spinach and wine,

and each dance is paid for with cash

or by card, the syncopated melody…

when it goes smoothly is fine,

the breather of space between tables…

a break in the rhythmic parade,

the looming smile of the maître d’

in a ‘D’ Minor staccato detached,

a career most chefs won’t trade,

to strive to compete and complete each

task with the mastery of haste…

when elbows and plates are moving

smoothly the legato flows unmatched,

for there’s no time to waste,

 

in the course of another day,

It’s been just another line-dog musical,

when the marcato to taste leaves no time to 

waste when you finally reach quitting time…

you realize it is ‘Oh so typical,’

When as tender as your stomach feels…

and work is fowler than the mood to play,

sleep was broken more than the eggs 

you’d serve and we call it just another day,

the stress alone can leave you restless…

so damn moody that milk would soon sour,

the minute hands on the clock seem to stop…

up to your ass slamming plates to the last hour.

_______

This work comes from inspiration obtained from the line,”A line dog musical.” A friend of mine said this, his name is Bob… a Wheelman (Head cook) in the Cafe, where I work in the Casino. The only line he gave me for this work was this but I worked as a cook myself for seventeen years– also my Major in College… Food Service Management. 

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