Comparatively Blooming

Poetry of the perfectly imperfect

Photo by Umur Batur Kocak on Unsplash

I am a mother, but
hear me out, — there was this woman
in the Target line, and I am ashamed
to say I ogled her
and I admit to envying
her taut dark tummy
what self-control she must have when presented with an entire (family-sized) bag of kettle chips, what gym membership she must have kept even through lockdown, what tall genetics, what a polished sense of who she…