pity

pity the woman who has a maid
and is never satisfied by
tucking hospital corners on the
clean sheets she just brought in
off the clothesline where
the sun and wind kissed the cotton
leaving mother nature's scent

pity the man who never learned
to cook or make a mess
following a recipe that will
impress his date before they turn on
music and stand together side by side,
bumping hips as they wash the plates
and plan to do it again next week

pity the children who never played
outside, who think that if it doesn't
have a screen it can't be relevant or fun
or cool, who opens up their brains like jars of
jelly as they're spoonfed sex and violence
and when they're old enough will know
so little of the truth of either one

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2020