We talk about it.
Admit it.
Be honest with yourself.

We talk about that ****-end piece of bread.
The way hands skip over it to other slices.

It's lonely like a stop sign.
Or maybe a dead-end road.

Yes, we ask why they keep it in the package?
Even knowing it will be the last left standing in the bread package.

And then we stupidly say, we got no bread?
Knowing that's not true.
When you have two ****-ends staring before you?