Playing Safe
Suburban mother, neat, ash-blonde, divorced,
might pause beneath a Bedford bookstore awning,
then check her list - lasagne, liverwurst ...
today pilates, Thursday, coffee morning.
One week is like another, which is fine
(note on the fridge -- "collect new reading glasses").
She'll pass on Starbuck's (have you SEEN the line?)
The bovine bustle of the middle classes.
Ten years ago, I struck like Typhoon Trevor,
intense and strange. Endearments and demands
brought whiff of chaos. "Picket fences never
restrained me!" But I left with empty hands.
She went for bourgeois bland, for safety's sake,
and never sees what's churning in her wake.
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