She smiles with eyes as dead as stone
And hates the work she does so very well,
And the ungrateful mob she does for.

She speaks in friendly, helpful tones
To mask the scream that dances just below her throat
And searches for the moment of escape into the din

She’s always there, as sure as there’s a sunrise.
Though her spirit sails on distant, foreign seas
Her feet are sunk in work-day sludge that traps her here.

Though she longs for clean and simple
Her duties bury her in convoluted mire.
She’s given up trying to scrub it all away.

A million little stabs have wounded her
Beyond the hope of graceful ending
To a life pulled down by circumstance and pain.

With no hope of stars in azure skies at dawning
The light that once shown from her eyes fades out
And her smile becomes an exercise in muscle stretching.

She does what she’s expected to with weariness
That goes beyond arthritic joints and too long hours.
She feeds the wolf and wishes it were not so.

But wish in one hand - spit in one
Her mother often said, and see which one is filled up first.
She always listened to her mom, alas.

And so she trudges slowly on.
She doesn’t know what else to do.
Another day to stumble through
And no tomorrow in her soul.
               ljm