What sight could prepare us for
our children failing?
New mothers
flutter past meat markets on Bloor,
their mascara thick as lace, looking past
pensioners puffing by the sports café,
Eritrean men and their talk of progress.
Once they were girls who waited
behind counters, stacking custard tarts
& bacalhau fritters in Portuguese bakeries,
hanging up aprons to smoke on the stoops
of the Women’s Centre and Payday Loans . . .