This weather is
terrible to be in,
with the sand
eating my polished mary janes
and the wind
doing its best for my hat
that I saved
months of salary to buy.
The ignorant
masters cannot see me,
even though they
look directly at me.
They are rich
and spoiled with no manners
and were never
taught to think of others.
Their cute whim
troubles Mr. Hughes and I.
Mr. Hughes is
professionally nice
and is
remarkable at hiding hate.
He even sings
for them as if he cares.
Perhaps he
really does love the masters.
I never could
find a job I cared for
or even willed
myself to show up to.
That is
precisely how I got to this,
the lowest point
in my lower class life.
It was always
hard not to blame my parents
but who else’s
fault would this sad life be?
I’ve grown only
to blame the wealthy now,
which I’m sure grandmother
would have hated,
much like the
masters’ improper dancing.
How could you
have so much time and money
and not know
where to put your silly hand?
I suppose
anything about a wife,
no, a trophy
wife is truly silly.
I never ever
want to get married,
even though Mr.
Hughes insists on it.
I don’t want a
husband or a wife, no.
I only want to
get out of this wind.
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