THE BAKERY GIRL
The bakery girl behind the counter
had a Polish accent and a blonde ponytail.
She was all snap, crackle and pop
as she jiggled and jounced, flitting about
with the levitating brio of a hummingbird
high on the aroma of rye bread, corn
bread and raisin pumpernickel.
She waltzed around strudel and backlava
never missing a beat as she dazzled the eye
with pirouettes and glissades,
long slender fingers danced on the cash
register, a concert pianist dress rehearsal.
At home in her skin, she juggled jelly donuts
and éclairs with the zoetic finesse
of a Cirque Du Soleil clown performer.
When she asked if that was all, as if she
might part with her heart and her soul,
I wanted to talk to or touch her, but how
can you shake hands with a butterfly in flight?
I mumbled thank you and aware that she flew
and I was still here on the ground,
shlumped away.Milton P. Ehrlich