filling the space

with her white baker's cap
pulled down tight over a hair
net and matted black hair,
she sees only the rows
and rows of donuts she must
line up on the slant
of trays behind the glass
she just sprayed and wiped.
her hands are gloved like
a surgeons, pale white hands
at the end of short arms
reaching and moving
the glazed towards the glazed,
the jelly filled to their
own soldier rows.
she neither smiles or
acknowledges your presence
as you take one, placing it
into a bag. she waits
patiently, then opens the door
to fill the space you made.