Yesterday's Bread
On Sunday, we sell Yesterday's bread at Just £2 a loaf. It's soft and sagging But it will do; pop It in the oven, Good as new. On Sunday, the girls Look like yesterday's Party. In they come, Makeup piled as high, As buttery and Sugar-dusted, as The cinnamon rolls. In they come, diet Coke in the one hand, Hangover in the Other. They dump both On the side, test the Mood, can't wait to tell Of last night: drunken And lewd. To work, girls! Coffee grinds, tamps, drips. Milk pours, steams, pours. did I tell you when...? Trays serve, cloths wipe, and Plates are soaked, washed, dried. did you hear about...? The till girl smiles and Holds her tongue. Oh, damn this job! All would rather Another One. The bread lies Unchosen: Past its prime, Yesterday's Prize. Gone is its Knife-like crust, Fulsome bust. Unbought, it's left Sprinkled with, Not flour, but Dust. Someone bursts into song. Someone bitches about The managers. Someone Checks their lip liner in Any shiny surface....