the call of the olive loaf siren

like the call

of a sexy

siren,

i can't resist.

i turn into the parking lot,

roll down

the window

and inhale

the sweet aroma

of baked

dough.

bread and pastries

just out

of oven,

baked by the fat

Italian man

in a tall white hat.

how can i not go in?

i'm so close.

i have money. i'm hungry.

i'm the boss

of myself.

there's no one around

me saying no.

so i go

with

regret to follow.