The store is a living thing
Filled by people coming and going
Cluttered with trash and wet towels
Needing the dirty footsteps of variety
Across the crumbling tile floor

An unthreatening monster slowly rising
From concrete depths behind office buildings
Biscuits go in pans, ovens waiting and open
We get ready for the upcoming day
Lunch shift is our busiest hour
Barked orders through drive though
Families in and out with meals
Napkins thrown whoosh
Drinks spilled splish and sticky
A whirl here, a complete order there
This is the main goal in life right now
And as quickly as it began
It all ends

Hackles slowly dropping
Lazily it drowses as sunlight filters through
Water mucked windows, impossible to clean
(Believe me, I’ve tried.)
Trays slowly drying
Wandering dazed and dreamy
Picking up after napkins and broken forks left behind
Like lost children, awaiting to meet siblings in the trash
How quickly the store dies so soon
No purpose to live for now

The last whirl of the night
Stragglers appearing in and out
A tired mop propped up
Swirling figure eights
Hazy dreams float on by
Racing lights red and green pass on by
And the day is done

How empty the store looks after hours
Harsh parking lot lights
Tribute to the last end
And the store sits
Waiting to be reborn again the next day