with red curls and hundred-dollar jeans
who reaches into the tip jar
The barista sees her, and it's a standoff,
a seesaw staring match in the middle
of the midday rush
The barista wants to tell her mother,
but the sun slants through the blinds
and she's lost in a dream,
recounting her own childhood--
The toy she wanted badly but didn't get;
the gift that went to her sister--
Then mother enters and they face
one another, and the girl has the gall
to ask for a piece of candy!
But she's so charming, flashing two
one-dollar bills, like revolvers,
in the barista's face--
And we see the anguish rise
in the young woman's eyes, dark eyes
that say, I'm doing my best, but she's killing me!
And the barista wants nothing more
than to see the bad girl squirm;
Watch mother dress her down,
Teach her a lesson she'll never forget;
the one she'll spend the rest of her life
reliving.
