Housewife Ii Poem by Vanessa Waltz

I write, I write
In bed at night
But just inside my head
I cannot wake another fight
I shall not dream of what have might
The past, the past, the past is what I dread

I will not be a poetess
With curling locks and flowing dress
No doll-house nor a cat that curls
Around the legs of tea-time girls

I'm welded to a cutting-board
With long sharp fork
And knife as sword
I'll lick the blood from every cut
And every hole you've bored

But boredom never seems to rest
Upon my old and mottled chest
With head held heavy, eyelids low
I've done my slowing best.