r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Stella Brice

She Is a Maid

 


A maid in a wrinkled  smock
wheels out a black garbage can
higher
than her head.

Her face
a rictus
of fatigue.

She works up in the ass
of rich-house hell that
she enters in the morning
through the alley.

She fears

She has become
the maid
who empties
the garbage.

That this is no longer a role--
the mask
clamps down in gluey
fusion with her skin.

It is crawling upon her,
the knowledge:
what
she does
is what
she is.

 

 

 

 

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