I burn myself for a living.
Sometimes I burn the coffee too.
I apologise between twelve and seventeen times a day*
*Those numbers may stretch.
I thank people for their rudeness.
I laugh at all of the jokes.
I am most of the jokes.
Sometimes I taste blood and realise I’m chewing the inside of my cheek.
I smile for money.
I have four bosses – all of them very smart and very funny.
I am not.
Strangers read my name off a badge,
Pinned down on an unironed shirt.
My colleagues address them as ‘sir’ but I don’t know how.
I think it comes down to motor skills,
My gag reflex blocks the sound and threatens substance,
Warm wet breakfast chunks that would rankle even more than ‘mate’.
Foot sore I blush,
Sweaty I smile,
Meek I list weak skinny, large skinny, large skinny, small skinny.
I am the funniest jokes.
Bad breath slaps my face.
Bad bad breath.
I don't breathe.
There is no tip jar.
There is no need,
For love - it can only be for love.
I steam cheap milk and dispense change with nimble hands.