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.