by Kelly Keene

“This coffee is too hot!”

“Mine’s too cold!”

Said the woman and the man

about I-don’t-know how old. 

I peered up from the counter

my shoulders frumped with defeat.

This sort of thing happens, 

at least five times a week. 

“I’ll fix that right up”

I said with a smile, 

Then I took both their cups,

and went away for a while. 

How hot was too hot?

How cold was too cold?

To me, coffee was coffee,

Each day bought and sold. 

Then a thought crossed my mind, 

and it stayed and it grew,

‘Til I giggled with joy, 

I knew just what to do. 

I took that same coffee, 

and switched out the lids, 

and gave him her cup, 

and then she got his.

They each raised their cup 

to the brim of their nose, 

as I thought to myself, 

“Oh god! Here it goes!”

It took just a moment,

a flash of the eye,

So I turned away quickly, 

“who’s next in li-?”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!”

They shouted in chorus.

“This still isn’t right!

How dare you ignore us!”

“I ordered French roast, 

and this clearly’s not that.

Can you tell me now 

where your manager’s at?”

I began to sweat, 

as they leaned closer in, 

my heart started pounding, 

my head was a spin.

“How can you make coffee,

as bitter as this?” 

The man spat at me, 

and said with a hisss.

Now that got me going, 

I’d had enough. 

you couldn’t pay me more money  

to put up with this stuff. 

Their cheeks flushed with anger, 

they looked ready to spew, 

but I stood tall and told them, 

“It’s not the coffee, it’s you.”