She sells coffee as a living at 22 young years,
this whip-smart barista with the green hair
today, red hair yesterday, and purple before.
She aspires not to be the manager here, already
oversees the shifting inventory tide each week,
glasses instead of contacts for endless counting days.
She’s decided, set her sights this early in life, certain
she’ll dedicate the remainder of her working days
to this chain that binds her to adding and brewing.
I wonder if there’ll be a change of mind sometime,
a sudden dream she’ll see more to life than currently,
step up and out to look beyond her time’s horizon line.