Dirty Work

We never dared to drop a foot

On rats or spiders, dared to shoot

Our parents taught us good and well

These kinds of things were apt to fell.

Yet we kept our toes so nicely clean

And hailed ourselves as souls supreme.

These kinds of things had lives to keep

To keep, to preen, to live to dust

No guts to sweep today.

We sat there in our chairs with our pinkies curled

Drew our dresses close, sipped tea

Dirty work, we said, per se.

Ignored our folks,

Brushed off our dolls,

Sought warm humanity.

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