by Kristine Ong Muslim
On the glass window,
the glint of the light
is that of a knife
caught mid-throat.
Through the wide glass, you can see
rows and rows of colorful delicacy:
snake oil brown, egg yolk yellow,
cadaver gray, glazed cataract white,
pink and neon green confectionery.
If you look closely long enough,
you will see the bulbous lumps of bread
sprinkled with sugar dust
the consistency of borax.
And the pies, the pies–
the ones with a quarter slice missing
expose maximum décolletage.
