my mother kept a blackberry
lipstick at the ready until ten
year old fingers slipped
hues off wire rack holding
face paint utilized for work on
a pole around the Bend. she would
scramble to prepare herself for
authorized ogling, careful little eyes
would not see crimson nails lifting
fishnet over knee, or the way her ass
jiggled around g-string, prepped to receive
dollar bills, before zipping plaid around
waist, still small after three births.
JC Penney clerk familiarity snapped
my mother back to a former time, a suggestion
left dangling in her ears. thigh high heels and MIA
written on post-its, stuck behind plastic
CD cases, one covering symbol commonly
referred to as flipping the bird. acronym
meaning "missing in action" made a name
as she went missing nightly, tripping through
motions, pepper spray clutched on late
hustles back to mini van post bizarre
night time business suits, fat fingers, tie
looseners, loosening bills from the fold,
loosening, lessening women without
choices, at the end of their rope.
