Until The Baby Comes Poem by Michael Porterfield

Ten ‘till twelve.
A woman named Heather.
Red hair,
Dyed red
One child at home.
She wears a pentagram on her forearm
Tattoos are forever.
A mark of her youth she still bears.
While her little girl sleeps at home,
She works at IHOP during the night.
I wonder if this is how,
She expected her life to turn out.
Trying to make ends meet,
By serving pancakes and eggs,
A side of hash browns.
She’s pregnant and due in August.
No husband.
No father.
Her little girl turns six tomorrow,
And she’s thinking of going back to college
But isn’t really sure.
She might just keep working as a waitress,
Until the baby comes.

5.11.09
Asheville, NC