The Carefree Woman

I love being a woman.

I can wake up every day,

Put on a dress with as many colors,

In it, as I choose,

I can take the time to straighten my hair,

Or I can throw it in a french twist,

I can choose to adorn myself with colorful beads,

Or sparkly earrings, or both,

Or neither.

Dress-up Gina is my favorite version of myself,

Feminine, dress, sparkles, color.

It is easy to be me in a sundress,

I have moments where my skirt,

reminds me to twirl,

In the kitchen,

Where the music might just be,

My son's rap music beats,

I haven't yet learned,

or because he is that kind of kid,

Something he knows will make me happy:

"Africa," "Come on Eileen," "Fly Me to the Moon,"

or even where the only song might be the drip,

of the coffee.

Penny, my miniature wired-haired dachshund,

Will excitedly beg for something,

She doesn't know what-- but she knows,

I have all the good stuff:

Cheese, yesterday's meat, 3-day old bacon.

My teenage daughter gets a quick goodbye,

Because she is mid-primping, and we both know,

I should not interrupt this complicated routine.

If it's a home day, we'll catch up during coffee breaks,

If it's an office day, she'll text if she needs me.

I head out into the world,

At Wawa, someone will probably open the door,

There's a good chance I will see a child,

That will delight me, as strangers roll their eyes,

At this kid is in the way.

But if you watch him, he's making a hard decision,

Between Gummi Bears and M&M's.

I will let people pass me,

On the highway,

Or let the everyday jerks,

Who try to "win" the bottle-neck race,

"Win," because otherwise,

The bottle-neck gets worse.

I will see things I can do nothing about,

A person sleeping under a blanket,

On the street,

A woman tightening her arms,

Around her body, as she walks by,

Men who call what they think is compliments.

A child trying to keep up with his father,

Who is too impatient or oblivious for little legs.

Ambulances, Construction Workers, Police,

All making commutes difficult--

The driver next to me is screaming,

"What the F-, This guy!"

And pounding on his steering wheel.

I will ask the universe to protect all of them.

A bird flits too close to my car,

to pick-up a scrap of Philly Pretzel,

Someone abandoned.

Risking its life for a morsel of dough.

A man in a fine suit is too busy on his phone,

And steps out in front of my car,

Every day. Risking his life and mine,

For a morsel of time or maybe some dough.

I will be on the street soon.

I will see a man with spiked hair, tattoos,

He will be wearing a woman's tank top and heels.

He will have that look that says,

"Go ahead, world, F with me."

I will remind myself to accept him,

I will smile and in my mind send him love,

This person goes out every day bravely,

to be the person that wears what

They want, and the world will be cruel.

He will recognize this and say "hello,"

And we will both know he means "Thank you."

Thank you for noticing I exist.

I will see someone raging a demon,

I won't know what brought that on,

Though sometimes I suspect I know,

by the trail of bottles strewn around his blanket.

I will notice all the people,

Crossing the street to avoid that

mania. I want to yell,

"You can not catch addiction,

You can not catch crazy,

see that person."

And I will want to cross the street,

But I won't. I will smile,

Under a mask, and the rager might notice

or might not.

I will ask the universe to do more for that person.

I will wish again I had a sandwich or time to get one,

I will wish again I knew how to help.

I will notice an older woman or man,

Trying to navigate the crowd in a wheelchair,

Or with a walker.

I will want to stop and tell them,

About my days struggling with a walker,

I will want to tell them I know how hard,

Every step is. I want to tell them about,

The admiration I have for them,

Because I know. I know. I KNOW.

There is someone impatiently trying to pass them by.

I will stop and let them pass because,

I also know too often they need to be the ones to stop.

I will think of my days, dragging my body,

And a cast, how I told myself I was like,

Hans Christian Anderson's Mermaid,

With thousands of knives in her feet,

Just to be a real girl.

I head into work, making nice with all I meet.

I try to engage with every task like it is as important,

As whatever I want to be doing.

I ask questions that have nothing,

To do with the task at hand,

But have everything to do with building

A better organization.

I listen to The Beach Boys,

Because "Wouldn't it be nice,"

Has the kind of optimism,

That feels almost like it could fix,

All that hurt out on the street.

I will get messages from doctors,

Schools, Kids that always need

Momma's immediate attention.

While a co-worker and my boss also,

Need immediate attention,

And the real truth is,

No matter how smart I am,

No matter how kind I am,

The bottom line is they can always,

Find someone who can do my job,

Almost as well, for less money.

And who is the employer who cares,

More about the quality of the environment,

Then the bottom line?

My dress-- the way I am most happy,

It Will also bring attention I am not happy with,

A man always assumes I wore it just for him,

"Hey, Sweet Thing," the hang-about boy-man yell.

"Come back here you look like a blossom,

Come back blossom," he calls egged on

By another hang-about.

The businessmen in suits will eye swipe me,

And at that moment I will know exactly,

What he looks for in a woman,

And the woman I want to be seen as,

She can not be summed up in,

Anything that has anything to do with,

With that dress-- those legs-- that fat ass.

A homeless woman compliments my dress,

just to tell me the thing I hear all the time,

"You look like you haven't a care in the world."

And I want to tell her,

What a lie that is.

I haven't missed a meal,

But I have counted the calorie of every meal,

Since I was twelve years old,

Or purposely made an effort,

To ignore the calories,

and apologized for every inch,

Of extra fat on my extra fat body,

Since before I can remember.

I want to tell her that I wake up,

Every damned day thinking,

Of the things, my kids want that

I want to give them.

I want to tell her,

This dress that looks so care-free,

It was bought for a conference,

In 2017, when I still believed just maybe,

The world cared to hear my story.

And has been worn,

To teach children, Work three jobs,

Cook several Thanksgiving dinners,

Feed the poor, counsel the desperate,

Count more money than she or I could even imagine,

Beg greedy employers for better for employees,

Listen to kids who no longer trust,

Their parents or guardians.

I want to tell her,

Yes, I'm manicured, an expense you can't imagine,

But you have no idea how much work these hands do,

I want to tell her; I have been working since I was a kid,

Yardwork since I can remember,

Babysitting since I was twelve,

Working in offices since I was a teenager.

I have been handing money out to every cause,

That came in my direction,

For as long as I can remember.

I have never developed any personal wealth,

I'm likely never going to retire,

Or own my dream beach house.

I want to tell her my kids have sacrificed,

Their dreams, too.

So that we can be the family,

That supports the kids who go hungry,

in the summer,

Who needs a day or a week,

to live on the couch,

Away from whatever troubles them,

at home.

I want to tell her,

These kids with McMansions,

are happy to sleep on my couch,

in my tiny house,

Where the dog is likely to piss,

on their bookbag,

If they don't remember to hang it,

Because whatever lives in McMansions,

is worse than what lives,

In cramped, dog-pissy homes,

Where kids matter.

I drive home in honking traffic,

I shake my head a lot,

The smell of a long day,

Rolls through the windows,

Women run panicked for the late bus,

People cross the street,

wherever they want,

The Quad crew own the street,

threatening to run over anyone in their path,

A man yells at the Rite Aid Storefront,

A woman holds her purse closer,

Men stare adoringly at one another,

As they cross the street,

The muscle car next to me speeds up,

A threat to take them out of existence.

In New Jersey, more bottle-necking,

More fighting for an inch,

Ethan is calling, "Are you home yet?"

"Eth, you know I won't be home for a while."

"Right, right, Momma, can you pick us up?"

"Where you at?"

"The turf."

I pick up him and at least three stinky

football players.

I have to remind them yet again,

So and so's mother is not to be called hot,

Just because you want to mess with so and so.

But we like so and so's mom,

"Who cares if you like her,

She deserves your respect," I remind.

I have to remind them that,

Talking about the girl whose ass is too fat,

Is kind of ridiculous,

Because they have all dated her,

Clearly, they all like fat asses,

"You right, You right, Momma G."

They laugh.

Then they bust on the guy with a skinny girlfriend,

And I say, "Enough, boys."

Then they macho about who lifts the most.

They yell mean things to one another,

and thank me for the ride.

By the time it is just my son and me,

He tells me the real problems.

And we gage together,

What if anything we can/should do.

When we get home,

We make nice conversation,

With our shut-in neighbor,

Penny meets me at the door,

To claw up my legs,

in excitement.

Ana is watching TV and her phone,

With her laptop open and her notebook,

With the perfect penmanship,

And the ripped out pieces of imperfection,

Balled around it.

Her first words always, "What's for dinner?"

"I left out chicken, but what were you thinking?"

"Can we get a bubble tea?"

"Can we go tomorrow instead?"

"Yeah, but Momma, It's so and so's birthday,

tomorrow, so can we drop off..."

Insert a very complex present that consists,

of the favorite things of her friend,

A canvas she painted that needs extra things,

Candy, Starbucks, Whatever.

Bills in the mail that I hope I'll be able to pay,

Still no unemployment for the half-lost income.

I throw dinner together,

While the dog stands by, hoping I'll drop something

or barking every time I open the oven door.

Laundry, dishes, some kid injury,

Headache, tooth issue, broken glasses.

"Momma, can you help me tonight with..."

School project, So and So's love life,

A much-needed supply,

Still, no one has done the dishes,

yet again, someone left wet clothes,

in the washer that needs to be re-washed.

Did anyone walk the dog?

Yet, again it is too late to book my hair appointment,

Nails, dentist, doctor, and I have to,

Have to, Have to, get to the pharmacy,

First thing because if not,

I will get that headache.

And somehow it becomes 9:30,

I can tell because my eyes start to itch.

And I draw a bath,

And I wash my hair in the tub--

Even though I know, that means it

Will be dull for a day,

Because I am just too tired.

To stand up.

As I lay in my bed,

I think, Thank you,

For the soft fleece blanket,

The good sheets,

And thank goodness,

I'm a woman without a care in the world,

because what would I do with

My time if I was a man--

Without a care in the world.