I’m envious of the moms
Who WAVE at the teachers,
Who know them
And speak over unrolled glass in minivans
And shoot the breeze.
In the afternoon school pickup line
That curves round,
I arrive late because I don’t have to be there on time.
Besides, who would I know
Since we are new to this place.
I prefer to WAVE at the crossing guard
Who broke her foot one afternoon
And the younger guard subbing with her.
I wave at them because they wave back
And sometimes first.
It comforts me to know
Someone sees the new mom,
Even for a second.
This is Day 21 of 31 Days of Poetry.
*Image courtesy of puddleduck.