YOUNG MOTHER

Today she is treating her twin boys
to Big Macs.
Her grey coat hangs over the back
of her seat. She is fully-fashioned
in a beige knitted top over white cotton.

Her calf-length skirt is brown and fringed,
patterned with pearl buttons,
and her flat brown shoes extend
the short length of black tights.

She is neither blonde nor dark,
but, as I catch the glance behind the spectacles,
I know her future.

One day, still dressed in beige,
she will grab a moment she cannot yet consider;
in some strange kitchen she will
drool a wetness into a young man’s mouth,
and with glistening eyes
speak words she has never used before.