Busboy

Baby's a busboy,
And a real K. Cobain,
He's got left-overs to lose
And dollars to gain;
Got music notes
Impressed on his skin;
I want to be that,
If that's such a sin;

He makes me want to do
Backflips on stage,
Throw the TV out the window
In a fit of rage;
Lie on the floor,
Strung out on synthetic dreams,
Cut holes in all my shirts
And tear my pockets at the seams;

He came to my table,
He gave me a smile,
Took my plate from my hands
Like it was going out of style;
I said nothing to him,
He said nothing to me,
This stranger-angel-god
Was something I'd never see
Again.