Widowmaker

For every twelve Betty Crockers

there must be at least one Mae West.

For every nine Mother Teresas

there must be at least one Marilyn Monroe.

So from the thirteen of us ladies in this room-

Nine of you are clinging onto the coat tails

of some man

so hard you have fabric cuts on your fingers.

Nine of you have aprons with your names

embroidered on the pockets

Nine of you pop out puppies at a finger snap

a legion of little followers you can suckle

who will be happy to unload you on the

nicest nursing home in town

Nine of you making cookies

and ironing and interior designing

for the sole purpose of having a new last name.

Three of you don’t like men at all and wouldn’t

sleep with one for a million dollars

cause dudes just ain’t your style.

So that just leaves the one.

The Widowmaker.

The one who keeps nine of you up worried at night

when your lord and master comes home late lipstick covered

and smiling for once

The one who you pretend to be at night in your

rented french maid costumes.

The one who makes your big strong husband

suck the spike of stileto heels and has you

fix him a turkey sandwich cause he doesn’t know

why he keeps having to work late and he is just so tired

So for every twelve Joan of Arks

there must be at least one Delilah.

A widowmaker

who doesn’t play nice

And from this thirteen

that one

must be…