The Woman At The Bakery

She stands
with  detached grace.

Her intentions fixed onto an empty city
slowly shaking itself awake.

My eyes follow a line
from her feet to her thighs,
a foundation too strong to be whisked away
by the tired lines of a weary traveler.

Her shoulders point up, they hold a neck
that supports a face with pensive intelligence.

She is in total control
She moves at her own pace.

To her
I am the same name with a different face
"Gringo"
not good, not bad, just passing through.

Her body tough and worn
striking and voluptuous,
she says good morning without a sigh, without a glance

Every morning,
I will see her
I will smile
I will order coffee.
I will be gone as quick as I came
and one morning I will have passed through,
and like before me
there will be someone new after me