4
their boss whose young wife sits at home
sipping her no pulp orange juice and waiting for 11 o clock
when she may officially
add vodka to it,
do her hair,
fix her makeup,
and watch the burly men repaving the driveway from the front porch,
realizing finally in her 4 o clock drunken stupor
that she is nothing more than a stereotype empty of all depth
and conscious experience:
in some poet’s head.
This woman will dramatically curse her creator
and as the men laying pavement stare at her breasts
shaking out of her shirt while she screams skyward
the kind old neighbor lady, a stereotype herself,
will interrupt her
raking
to fetch the hysterical young woman a cup of coffee and a blanket.