THAT THING THEY CALL A WOMAN. 

The rain pitter-patters

And I, patter pitter with it.

​

Coffee and toast and

All those other cosy things

Steam and sizzle

Upon my windowsill.

​

​

My Darth Vader boxers

And my smoky warm hair

Hasty reminders

Of an evening of despair!

​

 

​​​You say

It's hard to be a woman.

I say

It’s harder to be a chick-

Like a shadow caught mid-sneeze

neither here nor there

imprisoned nor free. 

​

I've barely gotten my hill legs

As the goats they bleat and gallop. 

I've barely gotten my hill legs

but your dousing me in wine and scallops. 

​

​

​​Silly Sissyphus

Rolling his little boulder 

on his puny manly shoulder 

claiming that he's bolder

A paragon of humanity! 

A man with mortal eternity 

alas! For us ladies 

there really is only one 

certainty. 

​

​

​​Forced to grow

And bend

to kiss and mend

simper and tend

a twist and a snap!

​

Are you sure I don't look fat?

​

​

Whether it’s the chaps who break us

At 19

Or the sweet lovers who

Think they’ll make us whole again. 

The numbers rack

on my bedazzled back

​

And the morphing and the morphine

breaks and builds

squeezes and kneads…

​

Until we're just

Clay teapots,

melting!

​

Unable to bake

Into that thing

They call a woman.