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Extraneous Mothers
are everywhere;
on the golf course
with short, bleached hair,
staring out Winnebago windows,
learning cake decorating and
real estate, visiting elder hostels,
frequenting boutiques in posh resorts
that feature children's wear.
Some have grocery baskets laden with bottles
instead of vegetables.
On the couch they love the day-time soaps,
drowsily,
they have divorced,
finally, or married,
hastily.
Some volunteer.
Extraneous mothers
all know someone, a cousin, maybe,
an old friend- grey hair tucked
up in working scarf, minding grandkids,
scrubbing floors, baking bread.
Not me! cry the golf girls.
I'm free! squeal the matrons at Old Faithful.
I've done my time! declaim the pearly ladies
over white linen lunch.
I'm nobody's servant, mutter the dull-eyed
at the television.
But Clara, or Martha, or even
Carly Ann doesn't hear them.
Her broad hips keep moving,
her soapy hands are full.
ã Penny Gerking
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