She looks at you as if you'd thrust out your arm,
And snarled, “You have to go back.”  Her makeup
Is perfect.  Her hair is just right.  She's wearing
A suit which you're certain costs almost so much
As you pay every month for your car.  “I can't work
If you won't let me drop off the kids,” but you can't
Because no one will look after yours.  Your mother
Has died.  Your sisters are busy, and she pays so
Little to look after hers that you don't have her
Choice.  You must keep yours at home.  Poor,
Pampered baby, accustomed to privilege, she
Can't understand that her kind's liberation
Is only a fantasy here.