Come On In

Who am I going to be today?
Martha Stewart wannabe,
or the writer with a pencil wedged behind her ear?
A velour jogging suit, embellished with sequins,
("track star"),
the Sophia Dress,
jammies with feet, if only they made my size.
I would let my hair down,
but it's too short.
In my mind, it hangs to my waist;
chocolate shine,
but smelling like mangoes.
Come on in, I say, as I open the door,
the house is dirty,
but there are stacks of books on the floor,
wine and beer in the refrigerator,
and real people living here.
Come on in, I say, sweeping my long hair
behind my neck,
Come on in.