The bakery

I stare at this endless ocean of dough,
Every type, shape and size of baked dough,
The smell of sweet dough, of savoury, and boredom,
All baked in house,
Like any baker worth his loaf,
Damnz that customer will be back,
That apple slice was mouldy at the bottom,
These endless bags of crusty rolls,
Bags and bags, like a hundred golden mini skulls,
There I was, in the gap,
In between these skulls, and the glass protecting the goods,
That'll be fifty pence sir (and don't come back),
The skulls were being depleted rapidly during lunch hour,
As other skulls were eating them,
Outside there, life went on,
Mine was also going on, while staying still,
I wasn't going anywhere,
I had to serve, and serve, and serve,
It rained, which was something to look at, at least.