the mothers that come in
seem to have a fire missing
somewhere behind their eyes
their laughs are always piercing
their smiles, rotten
their hatred festers and boils below their skin
hatred for their jobs or their husbands
or their screaming kids
hatred for their brunches and cocktail hours
or their *** life
hatred for their absent fathers or mothers or both
hatred for their marriage
for their husbands that got to have both dreams
hatred for their bodies and minds ruined in carrying children
hatred that they were never told that they had a choice
that there were different paths to happiness
hatred for the box that they were shoved into with a smile on their withering faces

when i take their order at the counter
i see it all
i see this and more

and it frightens me deeply