a hundred dollars every week

Psychiatry 1: The Early Years – Poem 9 


long days of work
on aching legs
run right off her feet
home at last
to yet another round
of wash-and-clean

never a spare smile
to lighten
a femininely handsome face
and no moment
for a breath of peace

always something
one more something
still to do

day after day
long into the evening
no change
to the way it is
except a teardrop
that forms in her eye
when the little boy
with a small voice asks

mama
when I grow up
if I can earn
a hundred dollars
every week
do you think my wife
can stay at home
and not have to work
each day


© Frank Prem, 2016

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