Morning Shift

Suzi Mezei

I have lost interest
in the sun
but it's outside
as always,
watching the Indian brides
in uniforms and flat shoes,
juggle trays and cutlery,
tap the bald heads
of luke-warm eggs,
the sound of breakfast arrives,
chatter and a mandatory change.
I prayed once,
to your strange god
to spare me such dependence.
But I am Darling,
I am Sweetie,
coaxed, cajoled,
bent into position,
made naked, dried, padded
by latex hands,
I am agog at the white
of her teeth,
the scrape of her black mane
into submissive pony-tail.
I let the cuff
of her shirt
brush my mouth,
taste her home,
her soap,
the scent of her iron;
I know I should
love her
but I have lost interest
in faces.