Food Service Epic: Catalog

Catalog

11/12/2014

 “Sandwich – what kind of bread? A white hoagie?

What would you like on that? You want turkey?

Would you like anything else with that? Some ham?

Is that everything? Some bacon? Damn

We don’t have that today. Calm down. There is

Other stuff. All the meats? These sandwiches

Are bad. They drip in oil and grease. What cheese?

Some pepper jack? Alright.” “Yeah, toasted please.”

“It’s done. Now what kind of veggies would you

Like on your sandwich? Look at the menu,

Alright?” “Lettuce, onion, well, uh, let’s see.

How about tomato? Or possibly

Olives.” “None.” “Well. Banana peppers and

Jalapeños.” “So much Greed that I’m mad.

They can’t hold back. What sauce do you want?”

“Chipotle and some ranch.” “Done. Such treatment.

The customers are so very mean and rude.

Why can’t we all have a good attitude?”

Food Service Epic: Epic Simile

Part two of my epic where my teacher asked me to look at an epic simile. In the case of this simile I am relating it back to Dante's Inferno.

Epic Simile

11/4/2014

In service there are nine arenas for

The dashing hero to pursue. The lore

Of which derides from fire as if the nine

Circles of hell; a duplicate design.

The meal checker, a lonely post, is first

In Limbo lies an area not the worst.

To-go comes next, Lustily the hero lies,

Blown back and forth in wind so strong your cries

Cannot be heard. Escape to dish in slush

He sighs, so vile and foul and thus must rush

To Greed. In deli joust between two lines

Call back and forth. Demons cannot read signs.

What do they want, they do not know, so off

To Anger we must go. But out we cough

The swampy water. Filling station—Wrath

We feel, we gurgle. Off we flee. A path

Opens to Heresy, in flaming tombs we grill

Then switch to Violence. Stomachs we must fill.

The bistro line holds boiling blood and sand

So hot and blasphemous that we can’t stand.

The Hypocrites are next to punish, they

Who walk with listless stupor, stumble day

And night to clean the tables. Monitor

Moves next from Fraud and must reconsider

His Treachery, were he must freeze in lakes

So cold, to deal with salad and with cake.

The whining customer doth want his ranch.

This hellish place, the poet knows there’s a branch

Held out in compromise, then pulled away.

The customer will not be held at bay. 

Food Service Epic: Theme and Invocation to Muse

For one of my classes this semester I have to write parts of an epic. I chose to do it about food service and in the case of this specific poem I am using the dining hall, Braiden, on the Colorado State University campus as a reference as this is where I currently work and have worked for the past for years. This is the first part.

Theme and Invocation to the Muse

10/29/2014

Thoughtlessness—that envelops all who come, within

The hallowed halls of bounty we begin.

Incompetence from visitors amuses

The God to whom we drink our nightly booze.

The God to which we sacrifice to make

Better our place of worship—thus we take

Our spoils to the dish room God who hates

The mindless actions of the newcomer late

To his first shift. Our God, we sing to change

Thoughtless newcomer—strong and tall and brave.

In second year the newbie starts to work

Believing that it’s nothing hard, a smirk

Adorns his face. A job in food service

Is not too hard. But as a freshie curses

Were flung his way. He cannot see what he

Had done to workers who worked hard like me.

To dish room God I sing, to teach this boy

What hardship means. Naivety destroy.

Words of Others

Words of Others

3/31/2011

The truth of the matter

That others can observe

Is that even when I’m silent

I keep my precious words in reserve.

Speaking doesn’t come that easy

So I’ll wander through my mind

And I listen oh so quietly

And see what I can find.

The words of others echo

In circles in my head,

The fear that I won’t get them out

And the fear that they won’t be read.

So obvious, so plain in me

The things that I can feel,

I carry close this empathy,

Others emotions I conceal.  

Words Hurt

Words Hurt

10/7/2014

Words hurt.

You can try to deny it but if I told you how

Ugly

And worthless you are

It would hurt.

More so if you care about me and my opinions.

If I am a peer,

A coworker,

A friend,

A daughter,

A lover,

My words could do catastrophic damage.

I could tear out your soul and crush it in my fist.

You’d claim you’re okay, that “sticks and stones, man.”

But inside you’re still bleeding.

Denying it doesn’t change a thing.

Doesn’t change the fact that words

Are like spider webs.

They stick to the corners and won’t go away

Because every time you clear them

The spider comes back and rebuilds.

The web is still there.

The threads interweave through the recesses of your mind and the first time I say something harsh and cruel

It sticks

And it stays,

And it reverberates through your mind.

Each time you clear it, it may move back, further in your mine, but that doesn’t change the fact that

It’s

Still

There.

Waiting for you to remember and hurt all over again.

Physical wounds hurt

But with time they fade

And you forget.

I have scars that I don’t remember where they came from.

But when my heart hurts, it hurts for a long time.

For years

Decades

My whole life.

Going to college and being an English major,

A writer,

A poet,

I know the value of picking the right words and which emotions they invoke.

Words have power.

Words have strength.

You can deny it all you want

But it

Changes

Nothing.

Words still hurt

And you cry inside like a child who knows just what words can really do.

Bullies take advantage of this deception.

You try so hard to pretend like it doesn’t hurt

Until it’s too late

And the pain in so vast that even the ocean can’t hold it

And you drown.

You sink to the very bottom of the abyss struggling for a breath of air and all you can hear are those horrid

words ringing in your ears until

Anger

Rage

Violence

Depression

Suicide.

Locked into an ever declining spiral because you couldn’t tell the effect someone else’s words had on you.

Your own ignorance distanced you and now

You can’t find a way back.

But

Words can also heal.

When someone reaches out and pulls you out of the ocean of your own emotions,

When they drag you back to the light of day and say

            “You aren’t ugly,

            You aren’t worthless.

            You are beautiful

            And you are smart.”

You can come back from that abyss and find your way home.

Words hurt,

But words can also heal.

Words are important.

Don’t forget that.

Words are a Tool

Words are a Tool

2/27/11

My sister who does not share my blood

Lost her father one cold and empty February.

It may have been only a year so,

But since then, it’s been an eternity.

The one thing I noticed on those lonesome days,

Were the certain words people chose to say,

They caused me great frustration

Because there was no feeling in any way.

“I’m sorry,” people muttered quietly

While my friend stared out at the cold.

That phrasing has been used so often,

From the young, and by the old.

Some days later, I brought this up

Wondering what she thought,

“Why must people always apologize

When they share no blame for what’s been wrought?”

She replied, “It’s just what people say,

When they don’t know what words to use.”

“But that really doesn’t make much sense,”

I aggressively accused.

“If you’re always using words that way

They eventually lose what they mean,

The feeling is lost by frequent use,

I’ve learned this from what I’ve seen.”

Lightly tipping her head to the side,

With my heartfelt words she did agree.

Without much thought, words cease to feel

And this I don’t understand, why others can’t see.

“I promise,” “I wish,” “I’m sorry,”

“It isn’t all that bad.”

Constantly used, consistently ignored,

And there are many more to add.

Words are tools with special meanings

That contribute to who we are,

But if we keep using them like we do,

We won’t go very far.

Words and Knowledge

Words and Knowledge

5/17/2013

Words scrawled in Black ink across a sheet of pristine paper.

But without Knowledge, the scrawls of Black ink

            Mean nothing.

Without Knowledge, all these words are, are

            Black scrawls.

Black scrawls scribbled haplessly across a page

            Of pristine, white, paper.

A mess of Black ink that without the correct Knowledge

            Is illegible.

Without Knowledge, words mean nothing.

But without words, how do we communicate our Knowledge?

Words are essential.

But are words Knowledge?

I do not know.