Inspired by forks. Or maybe spoons...

I ate my salad with a spoon on my dinner break.

Such convenience as a fork—

What luxury.

What if we all posed our left hands the task of eating

Salad with a spoon

Or soup with a fork?

Would the food taste that much better

Or would frustration bitter the taste

Of olive oil and herbs?

I’m not perfect.

I forget my forks at home.

I trip over cracks in the sidewalk.

These façades we wear,

These masks of false control  

And Independence;

There’s a break in the rational of the universe:

Eight-hour days, five days a week, no sick pay

No vacation pay, two holidays a year without bonuses.

There’s a gap in the reality of it all 

I work in a high-end bakery and I love my job.

Customer service is something of an art form
After all, it's the business of people we're talking about.

We put on a dinner party at 6am
Seven days a week.

Outside the parking lot is slick with ice and snow.
Inside, the spell of fresh chocolate glaze donuts satiates my nose.

Then there are the delicately pink Parisian macaroons filled with raspberry jam.
The dark chocolate covered marshmallows that are as big as my palm.

Croissants, galettes, gougère, cookies, tarts, pies to fill your mouth. 

Why might someone buy a sweet treat anyway? 

I hand out smiles and pleases and thank yous. 

I receive cash, cards, thanks, and the occasional sincere smile

Usually from children and those with no other agenda but to 

Indulge their confectionary desires.

Smiles come easy when needs are being met.

Pleasures erase those hard lines made by the word "No." 

I am a conductor for a symphony of sugar and souls. 

A gracious gift.