There are 9 written responses to this assignment.
When I grow up I’d like to be taller…
I have some Little Ribbons,
I wear them in my hair.
They keeps my locks all pretty,
I actually have a pair.
But when they get all curly,
From all that daily wear,
To keep them neat and tidy.
I stretch them on the stair.
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).
Sing to me, O Muses,
So that I may tell a story
of a hero, of war and love.
My belt, the black one, holds
All that is below my, waist, for
that is what the gods deemed.
Into and out of portals, whether
supine or crouched, my belt, the
one with the metal clip, held fast.
The garden muses call to me
“It’s time to plant.” “Time to grow.”
My blue rubber boots heed the call.
They serve me well. From heel to toe.
So soft and strong
A cut above the rest
I’ve had you for so long,
For you’re one of the best,
Made from synthetic,
Considered a sports tool,
What would I do,
On the field,
If it wasn’t for you,
My t-shirt, my shield.
My favorite sweatshirt
Only so much can be said
A friendship so strong
So red in hue
Serving as a protective guardian
Against weather and days of poor attire
Shielding others from yesterdays dirty t-shirt
Whilst it serves me so
It is rewarded, rarely, but so
A bath, and a warm tumble
That bright hue vibrant yet again
My favorite sweatshirt
My friend and protector
Soiled, abused and battered,
Still we have struggled valiantly.
To finish, though flaps and gussets, gnarled and knotted
Stand in the way of our turn
We know the task is beyond our small abilities.
There is no room for failure
For the fate of the world hangs on our very grafting, flapping breath
Supplicants, we raise, in a pantheon chorus
Our voices to the sky!
Though the goddesses have deserted us in our hour of need
We continue to evoke her names as a safe guard against evil.
“Hygieia, Hygieia, in your name grant us the privilege of purity, cleanliness and softness!
Though we try our best, we fall into the trap of succumbing to the crime of becoming odoriferous.
Mokosh aid us in our task of remaining paired throughout eternity and to remain whole!”
And if our pleas fall upon deaf ears
May the mending of us make us stronger.
Through twists and turns, we will not flee!
Though we are fleet of foot, heel and leg
Though you may cuff us and spear us with darting needles!
We stand our ground
Relentless of spirit
Though alone, we are always mated
Defying all who try to part us
Though we may be washed upon the shore
And tumbled most dreadfully
In the unrelenting heat of the dry desert
Until our minds do not know
Whether we are in the sky or in hell
We stand together.
And then, most piteously,
Once we have recovered from our ordeal
We discover, to our shock and horror,
We have been ripped forever from our mate
And have been sentenced to suffer
The fate of aloneness
Discarded as unworthy,
To enter into the Underworld of our lives,
Forgotten and discarded.
They tend to get dingy
The longer you wear them
The looser they get
I think I should swap it
but they are so comfy
I think, no not just yet!
My tribute to the most reliable and mundane clothing item I have. Hang in there beige bra!
Also a tribute to a song we used to sing in the Girl Scouts about black socks. My creativity was rather low today.