Barrier

 

I can feel your eyes 

on the back of my neck

following the green apron strings

down my spine until

the counter blocks your view. 

I turn my head between

orders to find you

scurrying like a scared

mouse that just stole

the tiniest piece of cheese.

The crowd diminishes

so I walk to the back

to fix your popped collar.

You turn the brightest shade

of red and your skin

crawls off the bone.

We smile at one another

and I walk away.

The tension is noticeable

to all our coworkers

but I don’t care.

You’re my

Costa Rican dishwasher

and I only wish

you could speak to me.