Sublimated

She knows from an early age, her mother’s hand upon her shoulder, she Understands what is expected, what is right, what her role is: to be Below those who bald, who wear one ring as opposed to two, their Limbs a marionette - to nod, to lay, to cook, to clean, to breed, to smile, to Imitate the lines their mothers recited faultlessly year after decade, keeping the Machinery of society greased and oiled, to have it constantly out of their own reach, like Autumnal leaves tossed and flung with the carefree nativity of a boy as yet unaware he’ll one day Trace a girl’s worth with the inks of innocence not experience, the arts of appearance not career; Engineered to listen, to nod, to support those who create their own problems - yet silently she’ll Dominate those who dominate, she’ll surreptitiously eye other women equally tired, equally ready.