by Regina
She's 33, single,
her Mom babysits
her 5 year old son,
she reassures herself
it's just 2 more hours,
then it's the blessed
weekend with some
delicious sleep,
no nest egg,
just getting by.
There is one kind
aging matron who
makes her lunch when
she cleans her home,
yet other well-to-do
homeowners cast
their false superiority
heavy in the air as she
in imaginings wipes off
their smug faces
with Pledge.
She hums to a catchy
pop tune while
scrubbing toilets and
spraying down whirlpool
bathtubs as her own
muscles ache,
maid for the ungrateful,
she smiles remembering
her First Holy Communion,
her snow-white lacy veil
with her rosary as if made
of perfect pearls,
then a memory of
teenage politics of
high school with random
daydreams like
impromptu snapshots.
Her lips and throat dry
from those damn
aerosol sprays -
always forgetting her
face mask,
a few sips of
warm Gatorade,
she prays her son
will excel in school,
as her learning disabilities
held her back despite
her gift of intelligence.
That day's cleaning was
at the home of a
lawyer's snooty wife
lunching with friends
after klutzy attempts at
tennis at the country club,
maid for the ungrateful
can hardly wait to
get home to soak her
feet with warm water
and Epsom salts
in an old basin. ~