Mrs. Richardson lived a life of sticky notes,
monthly planners, & endless to-do lists,
& was often bombarded with emails & texts
for the times she couldn’t be there
or they couldn’t be there.
She spent too much time
trying to coordinate
a fraction of time
that didn’t conflict with jobs or classes
or anything else.
So she looked forward to the incredible luxury
of a career that wouldn’t follow her home,
buy her one.
Marnie Owens spent her days
slaying needless words,
knocking out commas,
& stopping run-on sentences
in their muddy tracks.
She even killed
a story or two sometimes.
Her evenings were spent
as a Math Lab supervisor,
yet she didn’t know
a differential equation from
a non-differential equation
& thought of cube roots
as the 3-D version
of the square root.
She was no Charlie’s Angel,
but she managed to work
on a novel in her free time
& make it home in time
to read her little girl a bedtime story,
for such was all in day’s work.
Melody Doremi was a fashion dessert plate,
every piece she wore making a statement.
the message was a little too hot,
a little too cold;
for others still,
it was total umami.
Weary of the coverage,
she ditched her clothes altogether,
only to realize there was no longer
to cover up the tattoos that said it all.