Ten after eight, so late that day.

I grabbed a coffee and rushed to pay.

When the cashier who was always there

Gave a scream and pulled her hair.

“What’s this?” she hissed behind my cup.

“The presidents must all look up!

I’m sorry. You will have to wait.”

“But please! I’m running very late!

It’s just a coffee, ring it in

I’ll put the money in the tin.”

“No you won’t!” the cashier cried.

And even though I tried to hide

The fury boiling in my brain,

The effort caused me so much strain,

My hand reached out of its own will

To pour the coffee in her till.

But my arm bumped hard against a shelf,

I poured the coffee all over myself.

Silence engulfed the small café.

Witnesses found no words to say.

Then the cashier’s eyes looked into mine

So full of mirth, they seemed to shine.

The corners of my mouth turned up

When I saw the empty coffee cup.

Loud laughter bubbled out of me.

The cashier chuckled too in glee.

We laughed and laughed, it had no end.

The cashier had become my friend.