Sunday morning standing
in line at Koch’s bakery with
my buster brown shoes
and my plastic card reading
number 11. Trying at looking
good enough and bored enough
to warrant the offering of a butter
cookie once we’ve paid.
Wallpaper patterns of cows
and streams on every wall
surrounding me and replacing
the farms that used to be here
and are now covered over in
macadam. I sure did love that
sloppy butter cake, and cinnamon
twist donuts before going to church.
The small bribes of childhood
linger long into the evening of
our lives, yearning for baked
goods before heading out the
door for Sunday School and
church never leaves us - ever.
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