Under Repair

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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