On a Dime

Sitting next to you so dependent on your love

Absorbing the most minute nuances of your being

From birth, to the drive-in for a Slim Jim, from your courtesies

To your rage.

Opening the glove box, readying it's tray complete with a cupholder,

You chose our order carefully, a smile so empathetic; I know it was hard.

In the mornings, alone with little me, preparing breakfast, (did you eat?).

Lying on your bed watching you apply your powder, slithering into your

girdle, an unrequired restraint. Blotting your perfectly shaped lips with

tissue, snapping your change purse, clutching my hand, locking the door,

checking it twice to be sure it was secured. You were scared, yet you had

me beside you, observing your sighs, your worries, your chestnut eyes

sometimes teary, your manicured hands on the steering wheel of the old

Green Hornet backing down the driveway, crossing fingers we wouldn't

land in the ditch. Again. Your profile was so beautiful, your brown hair

quaffed to perfection, teased, sprayed, readied for your role as a confident,

cheerful woman. I saw the in betweenness, the ledger book you managed

with keen accuracy, the way you seemed to always be planning, thinking of

a way for Us.

Eager, on the edge of my seat, your window rolled down, the warm spring

air greets the exchange of hard earned dimes for a girl's night out; I felt

your contentment in providing us this indulgence, sipping soda, dipping

fries into ketchup; a moment to inhale, to feel okay, to know you got us

through another week despite my un-awareness of your known hardships.

Saturday noises, a lawn mower pushed by the landlord, ( he never raised

the rent you'd share someday); the neighbourly chats by the fence, the

freedom of swinging as the sun watched me soaring into my little girl

bliss.

Sitting next to you, so dependent on your love. Your love.