FOR RENT

by Kitty Tooher

You said there was a one bedroom
   above the bakery on 9th street 
which made me remember your
   sweet tooth
how it was a bit sharper than the
   molar it stood up to
you'd never be happy in that
   apartment anyway,
tossing awake each morning
reaching for a dish of croissants
   from the nightstand
then the next day
rolling to the cold side of the pillow 
   and finding a cookie crumb
or maybe just a smear of powdered
   sugar across your nose
eventually it would be too easy,
you'd taste the waft before chewing
you'd pass the shop on your walk home
then collapse in a chair
shake the weather from your hair
and scoff at the smell of those
   colorful jellies
   asleep in all those dense pastries,
   happy to have a home for the night