Hotel Breakfast

Toastcrumbs dark and pinpoint sharp
Across a linen universe
Map distant constellations.

A numb, semi-ceremonial silence
Is periodically stabbed
By the clipped ring-clatter
Of cutlery on china.

The medicinal dose of fruit-juice,
The lip-service luxury display
Of dark marmalade: Oxford, Tiptree...

And by her station stands
The first-shift waitress
All black-and-white crisp,
With a good-morning smile
Lying for tired eyes.