untitled poem

cotton doesn't have a
last name
just a slick shiny black
scalp and always
a friendly greeting
he takes the orders from
the shop workers everynight
at 7:30 pm sharp
the people get in a line
and he jots down there
requests with a bic ball point pen
onto a tattered oily spiral notebook
He's developed a form of short hand for taking down the menu items
A Lebanese family has a bbq joint near pine and mingo where he picks up everyones meals
The meals come in small brown paper sacks with grease stains
complete with plastic silver wear
napkins and two packs of hunts ketchup
I once asked someone standing in line
why does cotton do this for everyone
they replied oh he gets his meal free for giving them the business
oh I said then began dog hunching the air with my tongue out moaning
fried bologna sandwich while trying to put my hands on their peckers to no avail