Thursdays

She rushes home from school Thursdays

white saddle shoes trimmed blue, 

a striped shirt tucked tight to a flared pink skirt.

She pulls the front beveled door, 

lets the screen hit her bottom, aims fast 

for the woman polishing silver.

A worn apron, limp bow at the waist, 

natty hair beneath a net. Cora turns, face aglow,

smiles with open arms. The child jumps toward bountiful breasts. 

The cleaning lady swings her ‘round, smothers 

kisses on the girl’s cheeks, who 

laughs, squeezes maids’ abundant flesh.

Her white uniform

reeks of perspiration.

Housekeeping extends dark stains

from arm pits to breasts. 

The child ignores the sweat, smell

the screechy garbled voice.

They bathe each other in love. 

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