She Didn't Apologize (x post from r/OCpoetry)

Fuming,
she shouted numbers at me.
Small numbers like nickels or dimes
that I'm sure were
rattling forgotten at the bottom of
her purse
among loose Q-tips and
cough drop wrappers.
I opened my mouth to speak
but let it hang.
She didn't need this,
she needed that.
And more.
For less.
It didn't used to be this way.
She didn't know why she kept
coming back.
She could do better elsewhere,
does better elsewhere.
She wanted that to hurt me,
but it didn't.
I was numb.
She would make sure
I could never see her again.
My heart ached at the thought
of her next inevitable poor
poor victim.
Her hair was producted,
spiky and hard
like her words.
I swallowed.
"Lady, I don't work here."