David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

A Riff on Dilip Chitre's In the Midnight Bakery


At midnight in the white tiled store
I kneed the dough, my knuckles sore,
I remember the singers of my youth
And pretty Asmir’s sparkling truth;

I drink a beer to pass the time,
And wish it some exotic wine,
I eat fried livers from a cold plate
And wonder at the paths of Fate.

All my friends gone to the Gulf
To steal a pinch of sandy wealth,
The wife of Pathan who lives next door,
Is bored and tries to play the whore;

I say “Sainted Sister, seek someone else,
I set my biscuits on the shelf,
The breads exhale a sweet bouquet,
Pure virgin loaves set on display.

Submitted: Thursday, April 18, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 02, 2013

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