“Now dad, don’t buy me dresses anymore,”
She said, with hips akimbo, stern of voice;
“The paper says I must even the score,
And I deserve fair treatment—like the boys;
I want to dress in trousers, just like lads,
To drink and smoke and swear like grown men do;
I want to laugh and sing—to never more be sad,
With pride and power, privilege, just like you.”
She seemed to court derision in her stance,
But I disarmed her with a simple smile:
“Do you recall when Mom and I would dance…
And will you let me walk you down the aisle?”
The seeds of discontent, I understand—
Must beauty now become this beast called man?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.