Oh piercing wire, with clasps and lace,
Digs my flesh and does deface
With sores and grooves.
I tolerate you with good grace,
And go about my daily life
With a smile upon my face.
You perpetrator of inequality
The work success that was defied me.
My eyes he never did see!
Your clasps and chains
That shaped and betrayed me.
Yet there were tales to behold!
If you could speak and stories told
Of romance and intrigue, and wild affairs.
Involving diamonds and gold!
You illustrious goddess
Of new tales yet to unfold.
Oh ancient garment.
You should into the rubbish be thrown.
But we have travelled too far
And together grown.
And new clasps I have sown.
The bra that launched ten thousand days.
(Love ’em. Hate ’em. We can’t do without ’em).