Monday, March 7, 2011

On bosoms

The TV at my gym is always on
Bret Maverick and John Wayne
And sometimes Mickey Rooney
And I always watch for the old matriarchs,
All of 50 or 60 years old
In their shapeless dresses, each bosom
A pillow any street corner Santa would have coveted
And I wonder if they didn’t have decent bras
Or if in their youth they’d been corseted to the point
Of collapse and wanted just to breathe free
Modern bras were invented in France, of course,
And widely sold by the 20s
But maybe they only came in small sizes
In the 30s and 40s, or maybe costumers or directors
Couldn’t handle the sexuality of these women
And needed to de-sex them into bosomy pillars
Of the community
Who never ran the bank or became mayor,
Their power sidelined into clubs and meetings about books
And pseudo-charlatans like Mesmer and Houdini
While their railroad-owning husbands chased showgirls
Whose tits needed no support
And I wonder where those cinematic stereotypes came from
The sexless Ma Kettle, the shapeless banker’s wife
Who never had much say in anything
And why women, who went to many more movies than men did,
Put up with it

2 comments:

sorella said...

Brilliant, I love it.

LC said...

Good one!