Before She Was My Mother

The angles are left to the women,
the curves for the critics in the corner,
her business models on the floor,
she breaks into tears on his shirt,
the styrofoam crumbles too easy,
the pencils snap in their sharpeners,

No one listens to her dolphin stories,
they drink her Third World coffees,
sweets imported from foreign places,
news says the dictators have been jilted,
she weeps in her office for her support,
stale messages collecting on her phone,

The business suits and ruffled shirts,
they won't respect a fashionable scarf,
sometimes a sweater, a special tie,
sometimes sorta flight attendant savy,
she hides her pantyhose in her desk,
mend any flaw with a new pair,

The doctor's said she can have her baby,
he isn't as sterile as she'd budgeted in,
he's as insistent as ever,
they'll snicker behind her back,
the tailor will laugh at her oblong jacket,
she won't return to work.