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Highlights From The 16th Annual
FOOD SERVICE INDUSTRY POETRY SLAM
The Slam has always held a special place in our hearts here at BCP. The event is the perfect antidote for this precious fluff passing for poetry nowadays. This year we decided to saddle up the black cow tour bus and head out to Ames, Iowa to bring you the highlights from what is rapidly becoming the showcase for the angry new voice in American poetry.
FSIPS got its start in 1989 after a disgruntled line cook from a Ponderosa steak house scribbled a threat to his supervisor on a paper napkin and walked off the job. The note was never found by its intended recipient, but discovered instead by aspiring poet and hostess, Betsy Orvis, who recognized the talent and passion in the anonymous limerick. For obvious legal reasons we are unable to reprint that first poem here.
Martha
Will Be Your Servant Today
-Martha Davenport, Waitress
Came to the city in search of a place
Where they needed that girl with the pretty face
Who could light up the theater
And bring down the house...But guess what, man?
Hit on by dish dogs, and serving up goop
Scalding my fingers in French onion soup
Flirting with pigs as they belch out your name
This is waitressing, sister. Get used to it.
Sing:
"happy birthday
happy birthday
happy birthday to you"
And smile, or your fired, honey.
Late on rent. Food stamps spent
Bowing and scraping for the 15 percent
Lord never meant to have it come to this
Big break came in '95
Played a waitress on Days of Our Lives
They said I had experience. [screams] AGGGGGHHHHH!
HAIKU
-Jake Wilder, Dishwasher
I peed in your soup
But don't take it personal
It was not good soup
GUEST CHECK
-Craig Summers, Waiter
"A ramekin of sour cream,
Espresso made with organic steam,"
"White bread seared with American cheese,
A filet of Spam on a bed of grease."
"I didn't want this and I need more of that.
This salt is too salty. The seltzer is flat."
"Find us a table with legs that don't rock.
Turn down the music and pull up my socks."
"Get us another basket of bread,
And balance these bottles on top of your head."
My dear little turkeys, we'll never complain.
You're helpless. Without us, you'd drown in the rain.
Eat up your kibble and be on your way.
We're fattening you for judgment day.
I Like That Lipstick*
I like that lipstick --
how come we never
talked?
You know Tara right?
Weird. She's totally cool.
After work you should
come find me up at
Leon's
place-- the farm. There's a party
there. How about this:
I'll meet you
under the deer head
in the garage
around eleven thirty.
*This one was interesting. The reader, and presumed writer, did not appear to be connected with the competition. This individual, longish hair, gender undetermined, seized the stage rather aggressively, and concluded the poem with an inelegant stage dive from the risers which proved ill-timed. While it could not be proven conclusively, witnesses said the person may have been a caterer for the event. Though not strictly a food service industry poem, we felt it was truer to the spirit of the Slam to include it. -Ed.
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