Nipple in Hand
Time is seen leaving the room while she unfastens
the latches and lets down
the breasts that have stood forth
beneath a uniform for hours.
She addressed each loaf
with a wink,
lascivious,
knocking pans out of the way
with a fleshy hip, feeling herself
inside the anonymous outfit
a vital sexual being
finding satisfaction in the immaculate
rows of tender dough, each a rough
unit in length, but vulnerable
on the pan,
proofed and aware of themselves
among the heat and crust;
considering all the means of expression
left her she used the black
phone behind the cash register
to call me—knowing I would rise
and find her still pink
and doughy in the back room
--employees only a little space between soda machines
white pants on the floor,
white underwear curled around one ankle
and one foot bent at the toes hoisting
one cheek of that fantastic ass
like a wave on the sea, something
one turns for in passing,
to embrace and remember.