Warning To A Career Woman Considering A Domestic Shift Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

There are soiled plates, dark pots and pans
Her hands, not her head, should do the dance
She is often told her estate is not the thought
Conceding, her life, with misery, is fraught

He claims the privilege of a working mind
She retreats to matters of the menial kind
The economy is banned from her concerns
Her demesne the kitchen; lest his steak burns

Ignorance is bliss, but even bliss is a curse
When it detaches her far from the purse
Once go her clutches on the golden coins
She forfeits her voice in the decisions

An erstwhile busy mind that restrains thought
Slows down as engine blighted by rust
Till power is lost, the car sapped of oil
Tendrilled weeds grow cramped into a coil

An empty mind is madness’ playground
No sterile room where evil cannot be found
The color of the absence of imagination
A blank stare, an idiotic comment or confusion.

Yet if the kitchen be her conscious choice
By all means, we should listen to her voice
But her head- she must not let it retire soon
So she can distinguish herself from the spoon