The housekeeper lady
whose fatherless son can’t read
cleans the room
slipping quietly in and out
making beds, changing sheets,
placing breakfast trays outside the door.

Guests who casino in the morning
spa in the afternoon
cocktail by the pool
club through the night
find the bed always made
until turned down
when as if by magic
chocolates appear.

As the shadows lengthen
housekeeper lady rides the bus
for invisible women
to invisible places
picks up fried chicken with rice
hopes her son will come home soon
dreams of her father
and flowers in the gardens of Mexico.





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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2 Responses to Domestica

  1. toritto says:

    Los Laureles

    Ay, how green the laurels are
    What fiery roses
    If you’re thinking of leaving me better
    to take away my life
    Lift your eyes to look at me
    If you are not engaged to be married

    You are a sprig of cotton
    That lives in the bud
    Ay, what sadness I feel
    When you fill yourself with haughtiness
    Upon seeing my heart
    Entangled with yours

    You are a rose from Castille
    That can only be seen in May
    I would like to invite you
    But in truth I don’t know
    If there is someone in the way
    Better that I go away

    So goes the farewell
    Chinito, to your affections
    The Blessed women
    Are the ruin of men
    And here ends the singing
    Of the verses of the laurels


  2. beetleypete says:

    Thanks for the translation, Frank. I love the sombreros in that video!
    Your housekeeping lady exists in every country. In the UK, they are from Eastern Europe, or the Philippines. In Germany, they are from Turkey, and in France, from Senegal, or Algeria. The unnoticed masses, living life in the shadows.
    Best wishes, Pete.


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