Self-Crowned Rule
She moves in short, quick steps, stooped
slightly with her small head and skinny
neck nervously bobbing like a pigeon on
the prowl. Her hollow face is drawn tight
with deadpan eyes, a boney chin, and
no smile to soften the edges of her reign.
From table to table, she searches her
domain, salad bar to beverage counter,
a restless patrol. Her sharp eyes miss
nothing, a napkin askew or a placemat
smudged. She sees herself as the pulse
of the room, required and irreplaceable.
At the kitchen doorway, she leans halfway
in and flings words at the cooks. They’re
not orders exactly, but clearly suggestions,
sharp as a knife’s edge. The cooks nod,
smile, and continue their work, laughing
off her meddling once she has gone.
Diners wander in and settle at tables, and
the quiet ballet of chaos finds its form.
The servers sidestep her efforts to claim
her throne with smiles and nods, similar
to those of the cooks in the kitchen, as
they rush to make ready, serve, and please.
She makes the rounds to tables and chats
with the oblivious diners in a voice full
of practiced warmth, convinced the room
would falter without her meticulous care.
But whispers trail her as the staff jests,
mocking her attempt at self-crowned rule.
Copyright © 2025 Frank Zahn. Published in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Number 87, February 23, 2026, https://adelaidemagazine.org/feel-less-and-think-more.