The Plumber

Ode to My Yoga Pants

Drastic Measures

By Jennifer Triplett

            The Plumber

Just the plumber, he liked to say,

greasy hat atop his head.

He wore coveralls in gray -

different names it said.

Some days Fred, John, Mark, Bill, Jose.

Letting herself look ahead

of who’d be today, playing.

He always had a spread

of tools for the kids to survey.

Her son dressed up like Fred,

And they took a picture that way,

her son with his new friend.

Their apartment was small, but nay

her husband condescending.

Tired after work every day,

his anger would ascend

in fists that came in disarray.

She started pretending,

thinking of how to get away

and to break this old trend.

Before, he had bought her bouquets

and she was young, declared

that he loved her -  he’d never stray.

So she joined him, unaware.

The plumber keeps coming, surveys

the bruises, is aware

that he needs to get her away

as she falls in despair.

Today he says it will be okay.

As he starts to prepare,

he rolls up his sleeves, tools displayed.

She says no, won’t let him dare

be affected by her charade.

That night her husband flares

and she falls like a stealth grenade,

eyeing the tool he left there.

Once he’s asleep, she surveyed

the scene and grabs the spare,

lifting it, ready to invade,

bringing it down, no care.

        Ode to My Yoga Pants

This is for you, my one constant,

the one who has never let me down,

who fits even when I gain the

COVID-19 - this is to my yoga pants.

We fell in love on a warm spring day,

after spending months on the hunt

for the perfect pair.  Some material was

too tight, too shiny, too soft, too stretchy. 

Nothing fit just right.  But then my best friend

said look no further, I have the answer.

The Lululemon store has a whole wall

dedicated to different colors, sizes, material. 

She told me to try the Align Crop 21” – I

grabbed a black pair in my size.  The material was

buttery in my hand and stretched and morphed

as I yanked them on in the dressing room.

The waistband reached my belly button

and I gasped, staring in the mirror at this

perfect fitting pair of yoga pants. The nylon

and Lycra combination became a second skin.

From then on, I have lived in these

pants for all activities from working out to

sleeping to watching Netflix on the couch.

These yoga pants have rarely been used for yoga.

Even with a million washings and the start of

piling on my inner thighs, even with a tiny

hole on my right leg, even with any

imperfection, they are perfect to me.

Drastic Measures

She sits hyper aware

that she has come to fix a mark.

So long she has tried not to care,

but last summer he said, with snark

“Did someone hit you there?”

She reached for the dark spot in shock

giving him a cold stare.

The doctor comes in with a knock,

eyeing her in the chair.

Her mind screams to go on a walk,

To get away from there,

her lip starts to sweat as he talks.

Questions hang in the air,

does she want this or will she balk?

She nods, knowing she needs repair.

She can’t afford it, but will fork

over a card with care.

The machine whirls, starts to talk

against her skin with flair.

The pain seers, roving with a squawk,

Out comes the needle, bare.

It looms toward her, she gawks,

last to fix her despair.

She closes eyes against the force,

but is oh so aware

of the poison coursing

through her so she can be fair.

Jennifer Triplett is the daughter of Portuguese and German descent having grown up in the Central Valley of California on an almond farm where she learned how to work hard in the fields beside her parents and two sisters. She currently lives in Torrance, CA with her two daughters, newborn son, and husband where she has a Master’s degree in English: Rhetoric & Composition, a doctorate in Educational Leadership, and is finally pursuing her dream of writing in the Creative Writing program at Mount Saint Mary’s University. She is a college professor of English at Los Angeles Harbor College.