by Karen Mandell
Rose boarded the bus on Oakton
and got off in downtown Evanston
to buy make up at Woolworth’s.
She picked up Max Factor and Maybelline’s
mascara, powder, lipstick in a muted ruby,
skipping liner because her eyes,
dark brown, round stained saucers
were best left alone. Foundation, a dab of perfume,
Martin’s yearly birthday present, for a Saturday night
at the Cousins’ Club, rotating monthly between houses.
An Avon Lady coming to the house was too personal.
Plus Rose liked the possibility of a good buy
at the store. Her way of gambling–
would Revlon be on sale and how much off?
If not she’d walk out. Nothing swayed her
except a bargain. She tried to keep Martin away
from the poker table at the Cousins’.
A bad combination, excitement plus
no strategic ability. She herself did well,
Canasta, Kalooki, anything Rummy.
Her daughter called her too cautious.
What did she know, never having lived
through Depression, World War, Despair.
Thank goodness for that of course
but a seed got stuck somewhere murky
and dank inside, sprouting stringy
stingy roots that would not die in acid.