Macias Mexican Bakery
Macias had been operating his Mexican bakery
for thirty-eight years
when the doctors broke the news to him.
His wife had three months to live.
Still he woke up every morning at two,
went to work, made everything
that his customers were accustomed to
and at three in the afternoon he hurried home,
left some girl in charge, I forget her name,
picked up flowers, roses mostly,
and cherished the little time
he had with his wife.
But the day after he buried her,
he boarded up the bakery.
I was ten and sorely missed the maranitos.
maranitos-a pig-shapped
molasses flavored morsel
made for chicanitos like me.
4 Comments:
I've been following your progress since November last year. I stumbled upon one of you 'Emily' poems and was intrigued. I didn't get a lot of them – our backgrounds are obviously very different – but I've persevered. I have to say that I was getting to the stage of giving up and then this wee beauty arrived. It's always interesting I find to discover which poems make strong connections with people – it's rarely the one I expect – but this one reminded me of something that happened when I must have been about the same age as the narrator in the poem. I was returning home from school and the local bakery had burned down and I was so struck by the baker standing outside in a state of shock; it's an image that has stayed with me nearly forty years.
What I loved about this piece is the same thing I love about Larkin's poem 'Mr Bleaney', it's what isn't said in the piece. A lot of poets I find leave a bit too much out. There is a balance to be found and I think you've pretty much nailed it here.
Jim,thanks for your kind comments,they are much appreciated.And thanks for being such a regular visitor.
I liked this poem, and Macias Mexican Bakery. I think I've said it before, but you always remind me of "home."
Thanks,Poet Hound.
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