At the club
the invisible single mother brings
three glasses of Pinot to the table
where the ladies who lunch
speak of yachts and vacations this summer.

In the powder room the invisible toilet slave
hands towels to the ladies after lunch
while they speak of husbands and deck hands
checking their make-up carefully
dropping quarters in the dish
as if loose change is unclean.

Back home behind the gate
the grass is cut
the children cared for
by invisible imports.



Ultimate Grape Guide – Chardonnay


About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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3 Responses to Invisibles

  1. beetleypete says:

    Since the slaves of Ancient Rome, through the Victorian footmen in the great houses of England, to the lawnmower men of today, such people have always been invisible to the rich. Human coat-hangers and serving trays, with no more regard than a slug in the grass.
    Unusual version of the song, but I still prefer Ms. Ciccone’s.
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Liked by 1 person

    • toritto says:

      “Human coat hangers and serving trays” – I love that line! As for Ms. Ciccone’s version – I like it too but I find the “official video” awful and the “live” videos shot by the audiences not up to snuff.

      Oh, and I like Cassandra Beck!



      P.S. “Invisibles” is the first piece I ever had published on a curated poetry site.


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