Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
It's 11 at night at the fast food joint and the fryer is on the fritz, sounding the alarm. No one seems to notice. Employees are spread thin and customers are waiting to take orders. A child with brown hair                and brown eyes                and brown skin carries his belongings to a nearby                      table. I smile at the women taking my order, complimenting her sweatshirt. It is black. She forces a smile. I order a coffee. I'm tired. I also, have work to do, but back in my apartment. She asks if I want it iced or hot. I tell her hot. She says ok. But the receipt says iced cause I already paid.
0
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
Fast food
It's 11 at night at the fast food joint and the fryer is on the fritz, sounding the alarm. No one seems to notice. Employees are spread thin and customers are waiting to take orders. A child with brown hair                and brown eyes                and brown skin carries his belongings to a nearby                      table. I smile at the women taking my order, complimenting her sweatshirt. It is black. She forces a smile. I order a coffee. I'm tired. I also, have work to do, but back in my apartment. She asks if I want it iced or hot. I tell her hot. She says ok. But the receipt says iced cause I already paid.
courtney-pruitt
Written by
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem