6:45 a.m.
18th and arthur avenue
once again they lazed there with their slit cleavage. in the dappled morning light, their hearth crust like hurriedly put rouge and the flecked out sesame seeds, errant dusting powder. the day's fresh batch of italian bread topped with sesame seeds have just been dumped willy-nilly by the bakery maid in the shelves, forcing the lips of some to kiss the now sweating glass. hunched like a beggar in a bruegel painting, a shabby old man, dragging a grocery cart filled with jangling empty cans, stopped by. the man, like a sultan checking on his odalisques, then ran his eyes along the glazed, nubile loaves.
