Eleanor Rigby keeps her face in a jar by the door.
Paul McCartney/John Lennon
Theresa doesn’t like men,
especially when they run in packs.
The big ones bother her most.
They tend to be more brutal.
Honestly, men are boring. What’s
the point in finding Waldo anyway?
I prefer the company of women,
she says— people you can trust.
Except for woman managers.
They emulate the worst of men.
I’m not their mother or daughter
and I won’t be spoken to that way!
She owns her mother’s battles.
The residue left by death.
She dresses in the morning, takes
her time, studies her terrain.
Shoes, accessories, fabrics, colors,
textures. So many decisions to make.
I want you to think I’m pretty,
she laughs, the way I might have been.
First published in POETS UNITE! The LitFuse @10 Anthology