The Service Member Receiving Your Payment (Poem)

Many customers have been impatient with service members, especially those in the position to receive payments and information upon some form of registration. I can't count the many times I've extended my hand to accept the cash, check, or credit card, only to be denied the decency of having it placed in my palm . It's always the principle that stings more than what actually happens. I thought of a poem to reflect my dislike for this chronic act:

The Service Member Receiving Your Payment

This is not a table.
No countertop,
cash drawer,
or converter belt
carrying your junk.

This is a hand,
open, ready
to receive, attached to a body
attached to a being
cars stop to let cross
in front of a store
or between two blocks.

I smile, greet,
inquire about your doings
that brighten
or darken the day,
the least you can do
is acknowledge the flesh
extended in air,
waiting to hold
a card, twenty dollars
and coins, so I can return
change and your license.

Sometimes, you toss
like Cornhole
in your grandmother's backyard
while the barbeque cooks
and the lemonade sweats,
but no grass
is near the computer,
no grill
is behind my chair.
There's me, you
and a transaction.

The sound of your American
Express rattles,
keeps me up at night
when I watch
three cops wrestle a black football player
for not having fake money.

I would ask
what you think of me
if caring was in compliance
with my contract,
but no eye contact
assures me
that you assume
your disrespect equates
healthcare and paid, sick leave.
If scorn was needed,
I could go back to 1963
or make a post on Facebook.

I will not fetch
your horse, herd
your children,
cook or clean
in the back kitchen.
I'm here in front
with an open hand,
ready to serve
you.