Soothing the New Mothers
.
I come door to door
my hair shellacked into blonde wings
selling life insurance and
.
they return to their lazee-boys, their rocking
chairs, their blue barco-loungers and sigh
.
their eyes are huge, all pupil, but they see
nothing, their hair a shock of smoke
floating in all directions
.
their dresses stained,
their bellies puffed, straining against
zippers, buttons
.
they bleed, still, through their pantyhose
and the line of red trickles down into their
sneakers
.
they each wear a butter white cloth
over their right shoulders, for the burping, the tiny
pukes, the endless streams of drool,
the fabric has a peculiar scent,
like urine and dirt and something
spoiling
.
they haven't slept in weeks, they have the expression
of cows after the first shock of a hammer
to the forehead, before the light completely
leaves the brain
.
I offer them a pocketfull of chocolate, then flash
my shiny red high heels, speak of bars tangy with smoke,
low riding jeans, tattoos to the lower back
.
and men, lots of men, lining up, crowding the floor
to speak to them, the young mothers, men of every shape
and color, all of them beautiful and yearning
.
the mothers are lonely, I know this, and when
they start to weep with longing I am ready
I gather a handful of their pliable fingers
and lift them from their chairs
.
wipe their tears and drool
and I close the door, close it softly
behind us, so as not to wake
the baby