Diane Hine - Satiety lyrics

Macaroons and frosted cupcakes blush under the shining-eyed approval of the child in the shirred sundress. The breath of the waiting queue is hushed by a tension-melting spectacle, as she is swept off her tip-toes by the debonair gingerbread men. The relieved mother nods, smiling. This should be the denouement: The patisserie a**istant slips the treat into a white paper bag and a prompt conclusion allows bemused onlookers to share a brief afterglow of benevolence. Except that, the patisserie a**istant is dallying and the child is spellbound by a new wave of possibilities. The little golden men display a spectrum of white iced expressions and carnival coloured bu*tons. The child's pointing finger hovers; she is fulfilled by the moment. The patisserie a**istant kneels beside the gla** cabinet where the men live at child-eye level. She is complicit and condoning. She drops below the adult plane. Above them, the customers simmer. The shapes and colours of sugar are important to a child; the piquancy of ginger less so. A choice! -pink, blue, green bu*tons, uncertain brow and a squiggled mouth. The gingerbread man looks offended. The next customers, finally served, are understandably rankled. The patisserie a**istant owes them at least forty-five seconds. Their faces are cool. An echo of the gingerbread man's mute rebuke is resounding in their fluent eyes. Later, she wraps the white plastic tray of remaining men in clear plastic. She reflects on the way the chef haphazardly bu*toned and iced. If he'd spent an eternity and all his artistic talent, they still couldn't be more beguiling.