Notes from a Welfare Mom

You see me in line at the grocery
and search my childs face for a runny nose
or a dirty face
(and let's not forget those little hands)
as you smugly look over my purchases
with a nod to the gallon of milk, the bread and the fresh fruit
but a wave of your gloved fist to the ice cream (luxury).

My children do need something to smear on their faces,
something to give you reason to judge anyway.

You notice my thrift store clothes
and my shoes that are coming apart at the soles
and you still think that this is all that I want out of life.