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Fodder

“They can come to see us
  When they’re all dressed up with a suit on;
  Otherwise they can stay at home
  And drop towels in their own bathroom.”
    ~ Malvina Reynolds, “We Don’t Need the Men” (1959)

We’re reproductive fodder at best
Worse than useless otherwise
Who needs more babies in this overpopulated world
When by the time they can walk
They’ll drive you into hiding outside
Behind your cars
They’re such annoyances
Like us
You don’t need us around the house when there’s plenty of hired help
You don’t need us in business when you’d rather run it yourselves
You don’t need us in your square recreation as you compete against each other
Better than I can
Ungainly as I am
You don’t need us at all
Isn’t our only hope for escaping lifelong solitude
To find Western traditionalists
Who could hardly be matches for me
Or those desperate enough
That I might come across as more helpful than the hindrance
Feminism dehumanizes
Surely not itself

Thanks always returns

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