Do the three blondes sipping Ombre Pink Drinks

believe they’re on break from coding at Fitbit

or know they flew the coop, birds with lonely wings.

 

I hanker to solve the mystery of their designer bags,

pull out a magnifying glass from my backpack

slip by to identify brown leather, logo in script.

 

Google says, Gucci: 1 thou new, 600 used.

Blonde envy jumps out of a bottle,

at thirteen I bleached my black frizz.

 

Blondes have more fun.

In ’61, I idolized Bob and Justine

sliding the Stroll on American Bandstand.

 

Life could be a dream   Boom ba doh da

At the country club, I perched at the edge

of the cool blue pool, tapped on my knees.

.

I peeked through binoculars,

scouted five blonde moms, ten gin and tonics,

piles of discards, stacks of failed tricks.

 

Pastel Bermuda bags clustered on their chairs,

one initialed BABS. My secrets hid

inside a paper sack.

 

At Starbucks the blondes laugh, He complains

about cooking for the kids. Guccis hugged.

to their chests, they speed off in their Mercedes.

 

Years ago, I juggled bags of cookies,

ran door to door, watched moms float

toward me thrilled to see a Girl Scout.

 

I’ll take five boxes of thin mints, love them love…

They tripped back with two twenties, said,

keep the change   Sweetheart.

 

 

Mare Leonard‘s poetry has appeared in The Naugatuck Review, Hubbub, Cloudbank, The Chronogram, Earth’s Daughter, Rat’s Ass Review, Perfume River,The Courtship of Wind, New Verse News, Bindweed, Forage, and Eunoia. A new chapbook will be published soon at Finishing Line Press.

Photo: Michelle Pfeiffer, in a scene from Scarface (1983), directed by Brian De Palma

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