She pushed her trolley nosily
Her hips in sync with teacups
She pushed her trolley nosily
Her hips in sync with the teacups
As they cranked with each movement
Her brown skirt enough to make three of mine
reminded me of old mother Hubbard
Her dull brown hat did little to cover her woolly black hair
Her voice interrupted my thoughts
With the only words ever said
Tea or coffee?
Coffee, black! I responded in a monotone
The routine to be repeated tomorrow
