The Mission

Late afternoon settled down alone
Kids napping  house quieter than thoughts of silence
My mind mousing around
Searching for scraps and tit bits
To fashion an elegant fur collared poem.
Faux leather furry fashion furrows my brows
Tired of fishing
For goid thoughts
Noble and elevated airs
For accolades
On how well my cross
I bear.

I want to write today
Not about loving
My neighbor.
I don't really care
For her.

My daily help
Is a good woman
Walking a mile daily
To work in my home
Scrubbing my floors
Because I cannot bend
My knees.

Her husband's dead
Her second one has one
Legal wife.
She is like faux fur
Trimming his collars
For adventure.
But the daughter
She bore him
Out of wedlock
Real enough.

I really feel something for her
Little girl.
Whose eyes are wide innocent
Wounds
Knife stabs suppressing
Blood tears.
She knows unlike my six year
old man /baby?
Adults are not fair
Daddy isn't so nice.

I cannot flow my river of love
For her.
Why? Because I'm too
Worldly wise.
We take care of possessions
But don't toy with the
Sentiments of others.

Next year we'll buy a house
And move...

Then I have to forget about the
Mother and child.

She is also cunning and creative with accounts
Sending her marketing I have
Figured out her ploys
Simply a maternal mouse
Foraging for some bits to line her scanty nest.
I'm not very nice.
I give her extras gifts and
Tips to make her my friend and
Then make her account for even
Pennies spent
To keep her on her toes.
To walk a mile in her shoes
Would have made my soul
Scream and scream
Suicide a pleasant dream

The silence is broken
By her insistent ring
Upon the doorbell.
Eager cry to be let in
Employment her
Only dream.

All rights reserved
(c) Amrita Valan 2015