Atlantic City Waiter

With subtle poise he grips his tray
    Of delicate things to eat;
Choice viands to their mouths half way,
    The ladies watch his feet

Go carving dexterous avenues
    Through sly intricacies;
Ten thousand years on jungle clues
    Alone shaped feet like these.

For him to be humble who is proud
    Needs colder artifice;
Though half his pride is disavowed,
    In vain the sacrifice.

Sheer through his acquiescent mask
    Of bland gentility,
The jungle flames like a copper cask
    Set where the sun strikes free.

This poem is in the public domain.