The mums at nursery like me.
They are reassured by dark rings beneath my eyes,
blue jeans, clean-scrubbed smile, pulled back hair.
A soul more boring and more tired-
Just knowing I exist makes them feel better.
Not today:
Today I’m wearing make-up.
And my shorts are, well, short
which I think is against the rules.
My hair shines like a barley sugar sweet
and my finger nails sparkle
like long forgotten jewels.
Today I dodge dressing-up hats, snotty noses, spilt milk,
play-dough, paint and mud-puddle splats
with practiced precision.
Today, just this once, when I give mums their children back,
I look more together and more stylish than them.
I run home, cross busy roads in record time,
wave to total strangers who want to say hello.
I get the polish off my nails,
scrub my face under the shower,
dry my hair, pull it back,
grab yesterday’s jeans and baggy sweater.
He returns from work and asks:
Did you have a good day?
I think:
Yes. Yes **** it. Yes I did.
Do you know-
my eyes are pretty, and I can get into shorts
I wore ten years ago?
Stop traffic - check.
Turn heads - hell yeah!
The roofer down the road nearly fell and broke his neck.
Your wife is, without a doubt, a ******* **** thing.
So many words, like popping candy on my tongue.
I imagine his reaction.
I shut my mouth.
Danger passes.
But lies won’t come. Mouth’s gone dry.
I swallow back the truth then feel like I’m gonna gag.
Panic rising in my chest on top of bile.
Then:
My day was fine
I say. Just that.
My day was fine
And I am saved.
