The waiter at Beauty Inn
Beauty Inn is the hotel the Vietnamese writers stayed in Palestine

From the darkness behind the kitchen door
He stepped out
Bending down next to us and asked
– Wine or beer, Sir?
He always wore a straight iron dress shirt
With his neatly trimmed beard
And the red wine was poured
The glasses as clear as the sky

It was not the last meal of Jesus
But it was filled with betrayal
In peaceful communication
From a party table full of wine
In the evening somewhere

At late night I heard a cry
Actually more like hiccups
I looked into the dining room
As dark as a tomb
And saw him with his head down
In front of a full food cart
With a giant empty plate
Waiting for the day to displace a piece of FREEDOM

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