WHAT I MIND AND WHAT I DON'T
Give me the physical tasks.
I can chop and haul pine branches;
coax fire from a reluctant log.
Plunge my arms elbow deep
in suds to scrub copper till it beams
like a mischievous four-year-old.
But leave the tidying to others.
Why canít a book lie on its side
like a heat-stricken dog?
Sorting forks for salad and dessert
too like an upper house maid for me.
No uniform fits these peasant hips.
Just drag me from the kitchen when
the marchers veer íround the corner
bulldozing towards the capitol.
Thrust a placard in my arms;
I have the muscle for it.