Here’s mom, she’s still
embarrassed by the cheap
loafers she loved
as a teenager and tried
to save by shoving cardboard
behind her heels, how
she knelt for communion
but then, after church
one of the rich bitches
who lived on the hill said
here, dear, here’s ten dollars,
buy yourself some shoes.
Instead of being sympathetic
we wonder what the woman
would’ve said if she knew mom
stuffed her bra too. Here you go,
babe, buy yourself some boobs.
Considering our own crappy
clothes, we ought to go
to Mass to beg for money.
God’s pals from the poorer
burbs come to help hairsprayed
humanitarians pretend they feel
better about themselves.
Laurinda Lind is a former journalist and current adjunct English instructor in northern New York State, incredibly close to Canada. Some poetry acceptances/publications were in Anima, Antithesis, Blue Fifth Review, Chautauqua, Comstock Review, The Cortland Review, Main Street Rag, Off the Coast, Paterson Literary Review, Sonic Boom, and Triggerfish.
© 2017, Laurinda Lind
Halfway Down the Stairs 