"Drive back and forth/A rush-hour tide/I strive to regain that feeling I felt/When I thought that this was worth it./The drive is gray./I cry." Gwendolyn Zepeda, a Houston native who has struggled to escape the inner-city barrio she grew up in, wonders why she's crying about her long commute to the suburbs. "I'm driving towards something I sure/Can't complain about, something my/Parents could never have had." Single with three sons, Zepeda made her way in corporate America, "the cold, beige womb of a money-grubbing mother," in the fight to provide them with better opportunities. Along the way, she has had to come to terms with the guilt of working in physical comfort while others work outside, trapped in dangerous jobs; the realization that the quality of her work doesn't really matter to anyone; and obnoxious male bosses who need "a wife on the side," or worse, proudly report their sons' sexual exploits.
