Homemakers, Homeworkers, Homewreckers
They all gather here
the three types
rifiling through briefcases
ruffling feathers
Ladies with their ambitions
to be the best in their category
the makers know the wreckers
know their smell and taste
remembered from his shirt collar
this is the hub
for the whores and the wives and the maids
they flock to the watering hole
to gawk at each other
the workers are quiet in their observations
like me they hide behind screens
pretending not to see
she gestures with her foot
through the glass
to the pastery she wants
a blonde maker
he pays for her gesture
the wrecker bites her nails nervously
the worker types away
