Supermom

False expressions born in Technicolor
Transmitted via satellite.
Cold comfort of a nameless Mom
Who always knows her place.
Spotless house, pressed table linens
Flowered apron, scratch-made stacked pancakes.
Sunny smile on her features
As she hands Dad his briefcase

Reality strikes with a splash of milk
On cold cereal in the morning.
Pull laundry from the heap on the floor
And rush out the door with shoes unlaced
Schedules, meetings, laptop cords
No time for kisses goodbye.
Cell phone ringing, children screaming
And no peace in this place