6:30 in the morning, 

It’s time for work.

Someone drives me in;

Is it my mom or brother today?

One of them ushers me out of the car.

I stumble into the warm bakery;

The buzzing of the machinery makes my eyelids droop.

But I have no time for sleep.

I may be only 12 years old, but there is work to be done. 

The tables must be sprayed down and wiped clean;

The coffees (french roast, decaf, columbian, and flavor) must be brewed. 

The smell of croissants fresh out of the oven makes my stomach rumble but

I’m not allowed to touch them. 

“If you eat them what will we sell?”

The other 59 there, I would think.

But what do I know? I’m just a kid.