This evening the Tiger Lady taught me how to make flowers out of radishes. They are as pretty as her fruit of her womb, namely, fair Jessica. I perhaps overstepped the mark this evening, I confess. I wrote her a poem and had a blank Stoic response, namely neither good nor bad. No news is good news I suppose.
In any case, as hungover Alice and feckless Tom fecked around on their phones, doing as little work as possible I did all I could to keep the place running ship-shape and Bristol fashion. I did the work of three. As a result the Tiger-Lady has me covering Tom's shifts. I was most amused when she shouted him from the kitchen as I waited to take out another order, only to have him return empty handed, she then looked me straight in the eye and smiled. She even called him an alcoholic and unreliable. I swear, the boy spent two out of three hours of a shift either on his phone or outside smoking. It is no wonder I have been offered his shifts.
I still should not have written the poem for Jessica. I confess that I find her most attractive indeed. She is twice the woman any of her sisters are, although she doesn't see it. She has an inferiority complex about her older siblings, and I see parts of her in me.
This is the poem I wrote for her, for my sins.
Fair Jessica
She's as honest as the day is long, Dutiful, conscientious, hard-working, Whatever she does, she does it well, So favoured by the gods themselves, Humble, she shall flourish on any ground, Intellect: keen as Molossian hounds, As pretty as a lotus flower, She could have any man in her power, So well spoken with a smile like the sun, In the prime of her life that's just begun, The world is her oyster, fair Jessica.
M.Latham, 1st of January, 2016.
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