Second Class Citizen

She escorts children across the street during the school year,

But she doesn’t  escort herself to the doctor.

She laughs, tickles, and sometimes lifts them high—

showing more of an interest in them, than their parent(s);

showing more of an interest in them, than in herself.

Her second career is caring for the sick—bathing, feeding, and reading.

She’s taken more of an interest in them, than their families.

She has diabetes, but she’s unsure of what type.

She has never tested her blood-sugar, taken a nutrition class,

or had her HbA1c checked.

She doesn’t know her blood-sugar target range, or has time to find out.

She’s too busy caring for three kids, other people’s kids,

and other people’s parent(s).

She knows that she needs to lose thirty-five pounds,

but she doesn’t know how, or seems concerned.

“School ends the fourteenth,” I remind,

“Take three days off to learn about you.”

“I can’t. I have children, bills and a car,” She said with watery eyes.

“You’re rearing your girls wrong. You’re rearing them to take second class-seats.

You’re rearing them to mark them selves down like a bargain basement shirt.”

“I don’t have time for me,” she laments,

“One day, one day, I’ll find the time.”

“One day, one day, you’ll be still in one place,

with all the time in the world.”

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