She stands behind the counter in the noontime heat,
hair up in an untidy knot that tells the world
she doesn't really mind what her hair looks like
as long as it stays off her neck.
Wearing whatever clothes she happened to grab<
in the predawn dark,
she drums her fingers on the countertop,
silver, serpentine jewelry flashing in the sun
and hums along as she sorts out
the melody her latest song will follow.
She stares at the clock counting down
to the end of her shift
and her impatience pulls her into a restless pacing
and she watches her feet as they move
across the worn tiles.
Her toenails are silver, too, dirty around the edges
from walking around the autoshop barefoot
but for her beaded sandals.
She examines her fingernails, ever an uneven mess,
and she doesn't really care that they are uneven,
but it gives her something to do.
When someone walks in she looks up from her seat
through black lashes made to stand out
by the only makeup she ever wears
and takes their money
and gives the correct change
in a simple, efficient, polite transaction
that allows her to go back to
drumming and humming and pacing and examining
while she waits for the clock
to count down 2 more hours.

06/30/2003

Author's Note: Revised slightly May 2007.

Posted on 06/30/2003
Copyright © 2024 Amanda J Cobb