The Biscuit Maker.

I make biscuits every morning at the
bakery in Flint.
This has been my job for seventeen years.
Before that, I worked as a clerk at Payless
in Savannah, Georgia-we moved to Michigan
after my husband lost his job as a ups worker.

I was sad about that for awhile, sad we
lived off of food stamps and breadcrumbs
fighting for food like the pigeons
in the parking lot of a Walmart
store,
when all I wanted to do was make friends
and eat good food.

Every day I go into work and counted my blessings,
even though shaping the flour is even harder
than dealing with the customers who came in,
especially the young ones who want things Now, now,
now.

I wake up at six in the morning to go down to the
bakery,
where Darius, the manager, just opened the shop.
He was forty-five, three years younger than me.
It was insulting that he had a better life than me-
a wife; three kids; a nice home and car.

I have to work for everything I get, and even then,
it just isn't much.