Hair In My Latte

The barista at the local
coffee shop is a zombie.
I often find strands of her
molted hair in my latte.
She claims her boss
is a ninja; she’s afraid
her boss will sneak
up on her and garrote
her to death when she’s
slacking off. She peaks
behind her shoulder
as she makes my drink.
That’s how loose locks
of her colorless hair
end up in my lattes.
Next time I spy her
ninja boss, I’ll complain
about the hair in my lattes.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen