who has driven me on the bus,
waited my breakfast,
lunch, or dinner
table at any local diner,
who is not always a Tammy,
sometimes a Karen,
or a Kim,
perhaps a Becky,
or a Cheryl,

who is fluent
in cursing &
smoking cigarettes,
loving &
working the night shift,
who will smack
you silly & then drive
you home,
who looks like she
has seen some things,
because she has,

who will have to
kill you if she tells
you about them,
who probably makes
a mean cherry pie,
& always has a
pot of murky Folgers
on, in case of visitors,

who covers
smells of
tobacco or
liquor with
warm sugar &
vanilla, japanese
cherry blossom,
sweet pea,

who will tell you to
eat shit in one breath,
& give you a home cooked
meal in the next,

who is every
white trash,
high-heeled,
done up bitch,
who has canned
beating husbands,
buried children,
shown up to
hustle the next day,

who taught me to
be humble, kind,
change lightbulbs,
break noses,
gloss my lips
in candy apple
red, fire bullets
from them.