She dresses her two sons in spiderman
hand-me-downs and her daughter
in pink princess clothes from Goodwill.
Huddled together on the corner, they wait
for the bus as she drives off to work.
She knows her customers
by the brand of cigarettes they buy.
“Two packs of Marlboros in a box”
and a breakfast sandwich.”
“A pack of Newports and a lottery ticket”
“That’ll be $8.75,” more than
she makes in an hour.
Between transactions she calculates:
water bill and groceries this week,
next week rent. She feels lucky,
until Fridays when the numbers
are never enough.
After work, as dusk is creeping closer,
she arrives home to three hungry
mouths, three pairs of bright
eyes, and three sets of homework.
The clock ticks on even after
she has clocked out.
No time for the piles of dirty laundry
and the sink full of dishes,
she is treading water.
Three groggy kids fall into bed.
Chaos rests within her walls
as she drifts to sleep
to the glow of late night television.
© Gabriel Forsyth 2012
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