A life of servitude,
the guru said,
surely leads to Nirvana
No debate permitted –
we are but plebes
answer his every need
mere women, born
to serve, to nurture…
I flee the cult
Why? Because I can.
Servitude does not
negate free will.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Born to be domesticated
in a white, controlled desert
tending to two-leggeds –
blamed for delinquencies
I fed but did not groom –
privacy overrun by wannabes
everyone has their own scheme –
I am finished, threaten to disclose
neglect – no limitation to disgust
What fate is this? Abandoned
only to perish – Have I not been
loyal? Accepting of my role?
Tending to young, in charge of
personal care – translation:
laundry – only comfort solitude.
Past – as industrious as a line
of ants – no longer viable, I am
nothing, dependents gone;
bodily restrictions now claim me
forgotten dreams dissolved – I am
dependent, unwilling legs confine
care unpredictable – ward of the
state – semblance of nutrition
provided, encouraged to sanitize
my body, my attitude; no rest
this home is overpopulated –
vocal laments torment old ears
Pestered by small things, would
leave, stop being a burden, am
decidedly stuck, until life fades.
(Image: favim.com)
Jumbo Jet
they called her,
fast on her feet
zooming in,
swooping up trays,
delivering with flight
attendant flair.
When did she turn
to autopilot,
stop paying attention
to her destination?
Didn’t she know
she was set
on a crash course;
headed for disaster?
Tried to warn her,
wake her from stupor;
told me she’d reset,
but danger remains.
She is cruising now
over-sized,
turbo-lacking,
under-fueled
no longer able
to soar – trapped
in a treacherous game.
Waits tables,
tries to keep
the house clean,
caters to others
lends an ear,
has squeezed every drop
of self into her
low flying life
needs to land
a space of her own
with room to breathe
take life in shorter
intervals, refill
her jets.
One Woman's Quest 