Little Losses

Today I met the
The Patriarchy
And we shook hands
And agreed I should get
A pedicure.

I chose
An orange lacquer because
I express my
Contempt for the
Rigid beauty standards
That my culture demands
By choosing a slightly
Wacky
Nail varnish.

I sat next to a woman who didn’t like her daughter.

The daughter had
By some misfortune
(By which read drug-fueled promiscuity)
Fallen pregnant
And was now an
Unwed
Mother.

Lucky her
I thought.

We talked and I made sympathetic noises
And then she left
And I sat
Alone

Attended
By a beautiful
Nineteen-year-old girl
Who rubbed
Things that smelled like my
Grandfather’s second wife
Into my feet.

And I thought
Has it some to this?
I pay a woman whose name doesn’t matter to me
Apparently
To rub my feet
In order to experience
Human touch

Her name was Becky

I asked so
I could still pretend to be a
Socialist

Instead of someone
Who lied to her mother
In order to spend time away from her children
In pursuit of
Orange toenails

Instead of someone
Who eschews a psychotherapist
For a beauty therapist
And seeks redemption
For her sins
By neatening
Nails and skin

The Patriarchy
Followed me home
And suggested I wear a
Slighty less comfortable bra
To a bar.

A man told me I was
A darling
A darling he said
And leaned in with wet lips
You lucky bitch
The Patriarchy hissed
But I’d already paid my
Tax that day
And so I pulled away

And took my sweet feet home.

Alone.