Fancy Places

Enter a restaurant, and you find a seat-
a happy corner, candlelight retreat.
A bowing waiter hands over a sheet,
of numerous cuisines of dishes and treat.
One hasty glance and confusion you meet-
as your eyes skim the letters, styled in Greek,
of dishes unknown- neither heard, nor seen.
And lo, the waiter is back- with a smile so keen
to take your order from the menu umpteen.
Another skim, hasty and incomplete,
you search what to have, your mind in a reel.
Page after page you take an off-handed peek,
as you look for something familiar to eat.
And finally you say Gnocchi- your voice all meek,
in a demure of under-confidence, making it weak.
Sure ma'am, says the waiter, his smile ever sweet,
the way he was trained to meet and greet,
as he retires in grace with the order sheet.
Why fancy this place? - you think of a need
that makes you go to restaurants well heeled,
when you have your kitchen- hot food, in peace.
Is it the pride on the fancy prestige?
You tell yourself: don't bother, please!