Lady

Standard

dresses are a must, skirts acceptable
stilettos occasionally, sneakers never
my attire set my mood: regal and haughty
still my knees buckled when I met him
he wasn’t a tramp but an underdog
bounding to success I gave unlimited support
but he didn’t want a sugar mama
my role obscure, left shadows behind
doing more rewarding than standing idly
i let my thunder outspeak
the swish and clack of my outfit

pity

Standard

the man of the house
at twice my age plus sixteen
he dabbles in stock investments
in the expanse of his early retirement
but mostly i see him news scrolling.
when middle-aged and struggling
he said life’s a rigged game
he gave up then, settled on the couch
with his excuse to raise me
my mother the sole breadwinner
the newly appointed matriarch
rightfully so, she dealt with patients
came home cooked and cleaned and
criticized him with her newfound voice
that he loathed – he raised me to be
financially independent but decreed
i not move out until i marry.
an antiquated being
he kept me close i burned him too
even his spit could not subdue my fire.
insular he rigged his own fate
alone and waiting
the man of the house.

professional development

Standard

i’m more of a kindergartner
teachers sip flavored coffee
my travel mug holds chocolate milk
Brown Bunny resides in my purse
where i should have a planner
i’m still the hesitant student
how can i fit in?
talk of insurance policy i bail
i got my parents still
around me they type i write by hand
maybe i’ll never be the traditional teacher
but i’ll connect with my students
until they outgrow me too

home run

Standard

it’s our weekend so we go to the batting cages
i try not to think about next weekend
dad’s supposed to take me to six flags
but right now we’re here, the batting cages
it’s our time but the last session ballers hover
dad’s polite reminding then asking
they’re kids my age but they have each other
when they feign listening i have my dad’s back
he rattles the cage  warning jumping in
average height but his ego looms
verbal thrashing at the tip of his tongue
the boys hurry along and then
it’s just me and dad at the batting cages