How can you work in a coffee shop when
your orange slices are rotten,
the candy cane sticking out of your mouth
is bleeding,
and your skin could be used in bone broth
if the cannibals pitied you?
You can't even stand behind the counter long enough
to hear the faint clock in your chest,
and what am I but a warning?
Stop gnawing those matches.
You can't light them without a knife
and even then who likes digits in their latte?
Just ensure the customer is always right
and you'll be back to the dinner choice of
spilled veins or ten ice cubes and three almonds.
How many skinny lattes will it take for you
to get that diet under control?
How many more uneven bee stings
until you realize crimson honey won't
keep that appetite contained?
If you're going to ignore me, that's fine,
we'll pick this up at your next shift.
Hurry up and clock out though,
the kitchen is violent,
and the toilet
begs for your knees.
