Bakery buns
hot on the wires
beckoning the passers
by, to buy
them for a Sunday
lunch, after church
in November
for his parents,
far from home,
desperate to impress.
A neon pink
triangle shaped
sticker on a crinkled
bag, holding in the
air that ages
the already day-old
buns, on sale
for half price,
desperate,
so desperate for use.
Oh, how stale
is my little heart.
Copyright
This work by Lena Rigby is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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