You Swung Round

In a direful way, reaching forth
In a wave of wanting, like a woman
Is supposed to want babies and a home
And a man, to want to attract anything
And anyone better than her as a lifetime
Of being a mere child, a poor thing, a lesser
Than to be silenced and chit-chitted away
To a moon launch of pillows on a bed
Somewhere in a shared cell of misery,
Is the female of the species only a vision
To want
To attract, a steadfast of do or don’t
A lifetime based on one I do?
A have and a have-not no matter what?
The only gender to instantly transform
In three phases only: child, mother, invisible.
Are women meant to be zany volcanoes
That explode upon command until they
Are invisible? The crate, the bath, the vast
Picture of auspicious dexterity known
To man only as the next best thing.

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