Jam doughnut
Saturdays I cycle to the bakery
where, behind the shop, the floury men
bake and banter. I serve in my cap
and apron their warm loaves and melting
cakes to a quiet queue of ladies, who smile
as they fill their bags and snap their purses.
D’you know how we get the jam
in the doughnuts? He winks at the others,
beckons. Some he’s done earlier lie
a little dented on the tray, one with a lick
of jam seeping. He’s got his eye on me
as he takes a fresh one in both hands, eases
its soft plumpness over the tip
of his waiting spike, and pumps.
(First appeared in 14 magazine, issue 14, autumn 2012)
Jill Sharp works as an associate lecturer with the OU and runs a local life writing group. Her poems have appeared in various magazines including Domestic Cherry, 14, Mslexia, South, Poems in the Waiting Room, Ink Sweat and Tears and IMPpress and in anthologies from Arrowhead, Templar and Ragged Raven.
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