He Looked At Me With Eyes Full of Love by Sarah Hutchings, mixed media, 2015.
The Future is Ours
by: Mary Beth Foster
Where is my jetpack?
Where is my freedom from woe?
Where is my field of daisies, my bed of roses?
Nothing about the ‘eighties prepared me for this:
The age spots on my hands
The quaver new in my mother’s voice.
The future was ours
We could do anything a boy could do.
Through the haze of burning bras and noisy plackards
Glimmered the new Jerusalem
We need only follow the shining path
Paved by our grand-s and great-s
Who did the work of Hoovers, Singers and Whirlpools
Til their hands cracked.
We were free of that
We have the scented lotions to prove it.
I have it all:
The Miele, the Bosch, the Kitchenaid and Cuisinart.
I brought home the bacon, fried it up in a pan.
My kitchen counters come from Italy and gleam like mother-of-pearl.
Recessed lighting in my boudoir casts flattering shadows.
But Spandex and silk go not together.
Sleeveless isn’t an option – too many tans have passed.
Sanitizing cleaners violate my manicure.
But it’s alright, because I have a choice of brands.
I stand in the aisle under the flickering fluorescents,
Comparing the merits of Clorox and Lysol.
The doctor says that, with maintenance, quality of life can be extended
Indefinitely.
The other doctor says that I must keep an eye on that mole – remember my ABCDEFGs.
Fish oil can help with joint pain and foggy memory, but may carry added cancer risk.
Hormone replacement therapy was maybe not such a good idea.
Maybe I should send myself flowers
Pluck the petals
Scatter them across my sheets
Lie down, and dream of
Jet-pack flying silent along the path
To the city my fore-mothers built
So my hands could travel across silk
Without snagging.
Then I’ll rise,
Change the sheets,
Add bleach to take out the pollen stains,
Drive to mom’s
And change her sheets too.