The Little Venice, Lebanese restaurant

Oh owner of The Little Venice you make no eye contact
when you hand me my tabbouleh; I think this is charming.
The waitress is your sister, maybe, her name is Claudia.
She is beautiful despite her make-up. She looks hungry,
you tell her. She says she prefers to spend ten minutes
longer in bed than have time to eat breakfast.
She finds a way to make me think of her in bed
with no make-up on and her hair, a mess on the pillow.
Oh owner of the Little Venice, you do not look Lebanese,
as such, you look generically Mediterranean - tough guy -
you crush my falafel under your vice-like spatula,
you roll up my wrap, lettuce, gherkins, hummus,
like a body in a carpet. I'm so sorry I thought of your sister
in bed. Of course, of course, I will marry her.