I often wonder

Sun, 11/22/2015 - 21:38 -- DCierra

I often wonder/When soft fingers grace the faucet,/That graces the bucket,/Whose metal contours grace the floor/Who decided/That sore knees,/Coupled with aching arms/Tripled with hunched, apron wrapped back,/Wasn’t enough./Who concluded that/Sweat covered brows,/Dripping over boiling stove,/Wavering against the splash of delectable grains,/Was inferior to/Sweat covered brow,/Dripping over shivering drill,/Driving into determined concrete,/Or less desirable than/A crisp blue suit/Hovering over brown briefcase/Encased around tedious papers./With what reasoning can one decide/That diaper graced arms/Tugging dirt draped children,/Rattling bean filled plastics/Is less than masculine./Maybe they haven’t noticed/That soap filled hands/Equally overflowing with lives/Doubly spilling over with responsibility/Hold the power that reveals/More strength/More ability/More masculinity/Than could ever be fathomed

This poem is about: 
Our world


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