Invisibles - Poem #1

A Poem by toritto

At the club
the invisible single mother brings
three glasses of Pinot to the table
where the ladies who lunch
speak of yachts and vacations this summer.

In the powder room an invisible toilet slave
hands towels to the ladies after lunch
while they speak of husbands and deck hands
checking their make-up carefully
dropping quarters in the dish
as if loose change is unclean.

Back home behind the gate
the grass is cut
the children cared for
by invisible imports.