Under Repair
She had dreams
as big as yours—
of college—
fine clothes—
a useful career—
but,
someone
grabbed her heart,
that junior year.
He said,
“I Love You,”
and she was
trusting
enough
to believe his
thinly sliced
Promises,
Kisses
and Caresses.
The upshot,
(surprise, surprise)
a baby girl
came along,
perfect in every way.
The boy soon drifted away,
a small boat, unmoored.
So, there was no
high school graduation
strut across the stage,
or cartwheels
with diploma in hand,
or proud parents beaming.
Home alone that
celebratory evening,
her daughter fussy
and running a fever,
bottle bubbling,
angry on the stove,
and later, when the baby
finally fell asleep,
she, our dropout,
stood before the mirror,
imagining a glorious
satin cap and gown,
tassel flipped to one side,
It was then she saw herself,
at fifteen bucks an hour
standing beside a dusty road,
dressed in sloppy jeans,
hard hat,
and fluorescent vest
holding a
SLOW,
sign
that she wished she had
noticed
way back when.
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
. . . j
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