next

the one barista is tired.
she sits
with her hands
folded
around her cheeks,
sitting on a stool
in the kitchen.
you can see her through
the door as it
swings open.
it's seven a.m.
and already she's hit
the wall
of serving coffee and
heating up
whatever is in the
bin.
finally she comes out
in her green apron,
grimaces
and takes the next
customer in the long
line, that goes outside
the door.
her life has circled
to this,
and to what end.