The Baker

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I dream of the hands

of the man at the bakery

who shapes warm loaves


among those

who think

he is not good enough

to bake their bread. 


He hides in the back

of the shop

and sets out

the very best of himself

on the shelves


For people who hate him

to eat.


I can do no less,

he tells me


Their hate does not

diminish

my love for good bread.


We do the thing that we do

In the midst of darkness


Because it is the thing that we do.

Created: Jun 03, 2017

Tags: poetry, free verse

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