Spasibo

In a colonial town
The public house, once the inn
Good food priced like it was excellent
Biggest fish in this small town pond

In this ancient eatery
Slightly passed it’s prime
Hanging on to her glory days
Off to the side, a small bakery

In among the confections
A portly older woman waits on
Those who come for cakes or cookies
(the cupcakes are fantastic)

In her mind she is heavier
Burdened with whatever hardships
Have befallen her. She wont let go
But paints her unsmiling face

In the old country, oppression
In the new, bitterness, loneliness
Shame, for sure, but of what I cannot say
Though that old country of hers was our bitter enemy

In her accent she is revealed
So your pastries come with few words
Rare for a town like this.
I find out where she is from

In a word she lights up
A language she’s not heard since coming here
There is still some joy in her, I must disappoint her
For I only know a few phrases. I pay for the red velvet and go.

20160817

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