The Woman At The Bakery
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.
I am the same name with a different face
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
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