mothers of america

Mothers of America 

sit and stare out the window

picking apart scraps 

scraping across fine china

restricting themselves

reserving the hope to 

revert their stomachs to a state 

before stretch marks

when they still had hobbies

prior to eroding their identity 

they hang their neck

under the noise of their 

nuisance husbands 

who neglect their needs

and silence their worries 

with subpar salaries 

feeding mouths created by accident

and fear of the catholic church

figures who are now fathers

a haunting compromise 

for the unrequited college roommate

and first love who they still

let fill the frame of their eyelids

when their husband 

parts their legs as promised

by pity only once a month 

living the dream

of low calorie luxury

I can't believe it's not Butter!

and Paula Deen consume 

their glossed eyes

glued to the television screen

scrubbing their wrinkled brains 

clean and smooth

with soap operas sudsing 

at the dream of celebrities 

who still look thirty and have the 

body of their daughter

they can't help but humiliate 

as their extension of self 

reflecting back their shortcomings 

until they no longer come home

and perhaps then

only then 

can they remember

that they are

more than

Mothers in America