ManicDDaily

My Fair Ladies?  (No Room For Their Own)

My female ancestors from the far North were lucky, I realize of late.

Living in a raw climate, they could tolerate the extra layer of chastity belt.

Sure, it clanked when they walked, but the red hot poker up the janzi and similar genital reconfigurations were saved for royalty and,
occasionally, the psychically inclined.

All I want is a room somewhere–

While my particular ancestors were none of these, but commoner sorts.

Far awaiiy
from the–
 
Born into an age and place that needed women able to walk (even if clanking)–

cold night air–

a barren landscape where the few females were valuable, if chattel,

with one enormous chairrrrrr—

whereas in the more populated world of today, it seems that women are sometimes

Ow–

expendable chattel. 

And, what with scrap metal so precious and thorns and threads and knives and other young girls so cheap,

no one even bothers with–

loverly–

clanking.  Cutting straight to the–

loverly–

chas(t)e.

While in my so-lucky case,  I can worry about

a room somewhere–

So way beyond unfair,

heart hurts.

*******************************

I’m sorry to those who follow this blog that I am still thinking a lot about the oppression of women – a very big and grim subject.

The above is a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar challenge hosted by Anna Montgomery which is a challenge to mix up poetry and prose.  In this case, my poetry owes a debt to Alan Jay Lerner, the lyricist of “My Fair Lady.”