He shuffles in as 7:12 precisely.
The girl is always there, and greets him nicely
With a knowing smile that only can belong
to those that can say "The usual?" As if they knew it, all along,
What is so very very usual. At least, then,
He would never have to say it when
He orders his vanilla latte in a cardboard cup.
"That measures out my life. That sums it up,"
He thinks, eyeing the plastic coffee spoons.
"It's all due gone too soon, too soon.
The girl will be there, every day,
Regardless of what I ask or say
If I wanted to. Beginning is the hardest part, I know, I know,
But would it hurt to tell her so?"
Her arms are bare to the elbow there
And as she gets his drink, she sees his stare
And is a little flattered, and a little offended.
Would the world explode and land upended
If he commented on the ghastly weather as of late,
Or tell her that he loved her? That it was Fate?
But he will only mumble a thank you and leave a lovely tip
In the jar on the counter. And that is it.