Laura F. Walton / Hubbard, TX 

(On Walden Avenue)

So pleased with ourselves, our self
reliance, our survival thus far
in this cynical clamp of a city,
inveterate pusses in boots
made for walking- some day
we’ll be left with only our bunions,
or with a washed-out suit
of a husband, or a nagging hag
we wished weren’t so like ourselves.
They taught us needlepoint
for a reason, girls!  The finishing school
was a big fat metaphor
for learning to endure the stupid.
Balancing those books with grace;
arranging the forks that nobody
else can decipher, either;
smiling, legs crossed at the ankles,
through all hell’s descended:
more vital than we knew.
Long after the rest have softened,
that needle becomes the final
phallic symbol:  keep one always
sharp, and in your back pocket.

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