Neil Coppen

writings/ plays/ poetry/musings/travel journals and newspaper columns

The llama Spits, therefore the Waitress is a Llama (Peru)


The waitress in Lima is rude

like the llama that spits

cocks its cheeks with a skunk like brew

and projectiles it in my direction


and i wonder

What wars were won, territories marked, turf fended, young saved

by flying balls of Llama pleghm?

Sad then is the beast whose very survival depends on such a laughable device

A fault in creation to not have granted them teeth, or claws, a roar of genuine terror or ferocity

Alas even the Ass, as absurd as he might seem, has been noted on the odd occasion to serve a fatal kick. But spit disapprovingly in ones direction? Not on your life- the bearer of Christ might be heard to bray.

The waitress is rude

like the long suffering llama, tugged about the alleys of Cusco on a leash

by a stubborn faced Peruvian kid in search of a paid photo op


Like the llama that lives its existence

with an inkling of the industry it serves

Burial on a Pervuvians steak house plate, or woolly cap adorning the head of gormless Gringo.

The waitress is rude

and now there are no more llama comparisons to justify it

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