With a flick of the wrist, items pass hand to hand.
You hear a beep, and place what you’ve scanned
into a bag. “Would you like paper or plastic ma’am?”
“Paper for the canned goods, plastic for the ham.”

You ask “how are you?” a dozen times a minute.
You get a cold, “fine.” You know their heart’s not in it.
People whine as they empty their cart of pricey food.
Aren’t you lucky to hear about their bad mood?

Hours upon hours, you follow the same exact routines.
There so long you know 4066 is the code for green beans
without even being asked, it’s just there in your head.
You wish you were somewhere else, preferably your bed.

The lines peter out, the crowds begin thinning,
As the last hour approaches you can’t help your grinning.
When you’re finally done you feel at peace, you feel zen,
But you know the very next day, it all starts again