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Domestic Expectations

by Susan Davis

When the house is built
the workmen grade away
sand and stone. They lay
foundations in the dirt.

There will be an area
where clothes are washed,
sorted into black and red piles.
In the fall, just before

it’s too cold to eat outside,
the Mormon girls will
throw a bridal shower
and the mom will come

home to condoms and
panties hung from
the bougainvillea strung
with lights. Just

fifteen minutes, they say,
and it goes from sin to
something required.  A red
foil twirl hangs in a tree

and teases the room
with a random police-flash
so we don’t forget the party
or the soon-to-come

fifteen minutes.

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