She is there--week in and week out,
standing behind the cracked, formica counter,
counting people, counting plates, counting the forgotten.
And she is smiling more often than not--
happy to help and to serve the casseroles:
Mexican meatball, tonight!
(though I can’t tell if those are actually meatballs)
as they file past, their empty eyes
filling with the warm, sweet tea which is full
of her southern sunshine and hospitality.
Her dedication makes me wonder how it
is to have a life with meaning, but, also,
how she drags herself out of the soft covers
and into that dreary church, sandwiched between
the University of Pennsylvania and the Bobby's
Burger Palace on Walnut. It makes me wonder
what it is to have
Purpose.