the bank teller

the guy at the bank, Kamil,
wears a turban, has a long white
beard.
he's normally in lounge wear,
a white robe
or light blue of some sort.

years ago, I was in a bad place,
angry
at something or someone
for some
small thing, it was the heat,
the work,

on my last nerve, going through
a horrific relationship,

but I just lost it and yelled
at Kamil
when he told me
I had to go inside the bank

to take care of my transactions.
he had just started work there
and was cautious.

I said something like
I've been banking here
for fifty years,

and I can't believe this.

the manager came over to the window
and straightened it
all out.

I was embarrassed, felt dumb
and ridiculous. but since then,
we've become friends.

we talk weather and family,
count your change, he says,
smiling.

we've come to know each other

as much as one can with a teller
at the bank, pushing out the metal
drawer for your slips
of paper.