At The Airport Japanese Restaurant Poem by Lynne Crandall

The woman behind the counter is ready for a break.
A break from serving seaweed salads
and a break from her life.
Her mother, who runs the family business,
leans over to tell the woman to plate another order of sushi.
As she fills the plate, her eyes betray resentful memories
of working every Friday night, and every other night, of her life.
She reaches up to brush her long, dark hair away from her face
and stares out into the sea of busy travelers with a plea for help.