I am that employee at work

Who gets passed for the challenging projects

Those plum roles; that much deserved promotion

I cannot handle the long hours, they say

I am a mother who needs flexible hours

My knowledge and expertise do not matter

My work doesn’t speak, neat and on time

I am just that mother ready to run

At the smallest cry, the tiniest sniffle

A liability in this agile world

 

As I rush home, I become that mother

Who dumps her little baby at the mercy

Of shabby day care centers and dubious maids

As I walk past the group of doting mothers in the park

Their eyes bore through; loathful, accusing

I am not much of a mother, they say at home

Just a worker, always focused on her work

Too engrossed in spreadsheets and presentations

Trampling ahead, over needs of the offspring I bore

Proven guilty without a hearing

 

In the struggle of my dual existence

I seem to have lost on both my worlds

Am I a worker, too smoked by the emotions?

Or a mother, too stoked by her ambitions?

A woman condemned to a life in between.