The Coffee Shop

They're working, working. On computers and paper
But I'm working too, serving caffeine to their flavour
I see all types, observe every Mrs and Mister
So listen to the tales of the coffee shop barista.

They're working, working, scribbling away.
Some have been here since the start of the day
Let me take you through the types, the workers' who's who
Because it seems everyone these days has a lot of work to do

Sitting by the door, talks to everyone as they pass
Is the not-really-worker, the snake in the grass
The distraction, the trap, the folly of the fool
While blank pages litter their table and stool

In the corner by the window, watching the world go by
Is the worker-dreamer, who let's their imagination fly
They'll compose a thousand stories of the world outside
Before trapping a single story into words inside

Right by the counter, next to the coffee bean sack
Needing regular coffee, and needing it black
Always up at the counter, and shaking slightly
We have the worker-addict, to name them politely

The imposter in the shop, of which we have a fair few
Comes in looking haggled and tuts at the queue
Spends fifteen minutes setting up, but never stays for long
In coffee shop worlds, worker-drones just don't feel they belong

Working in the middle, taking centre stage
Is a person who has written many a page
My favourite worker, for they've survived such a trial
The introvert in the room, for whom I always save a smile

The hardest worker of all. Head always down and low
Lest they have to talk to someone for more than a hello
Social anxiety can make this a personal hell
Yet it's the same thing that makes them work so well

Every worker in the room has a type and style
Some here briefly, some here for a while
So if you ever come to my shop to work, I can guarantee
You won't be alone, it's a worker community.